


All We Ever Wanted

by thats_entirely_too_much_tuna



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Butterfly Effect, Canon Compliant, DGHDA Big Bang and Beginner Bang 2018, F/F, Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 14:09:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15730986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thats_entirely_too_much_tuna/pseuds/thats_entirely_too_much_tuna
Summary: Todd’s focal point slid slightly to the left. To a pair of blue eyes, crinkled at the edges in a smile. A wash of pale skin, dotted with perfect freckles. A bright outfit that clung just right to the person who wore it. With that thought, an intense rush of adrenaline shot through Todd’s system, and his eyes flew open.Holyshit.He would rather have been kissing Dirk.Season 2 AU that’s not exactly an AU.While on the run with Farah, Todd realizes he has feelings for Dirk. Meanwhile, Dirk is in Blackwing, thinking about Todd every waking minute. Once reunited, they begin to act on their feelings. Cue season-long butterfly effect.All those Brotzly moments you hoped were romantic? Now they are, and then some. All your favorite scenes? They might be included. They might be expanded upon. They might be a bit different. Or they might be wiped out of existence and replaced with something new. You'll have to read to find out.Features all your faves being lovable losers, as usual.Written for the DGHDA Big Bang 2018.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone, it's that time again! 
> 
> I'm so _freakin'_ excited to share this fic with you. Fair warning: I contracted mono in April, and due to brain mushiness, writing was tricky for a bit. In other words, yes, this is still a WIP, but I have written a significant chunk of it, so you'll have something to keep you busy while I madly write the rest!
> 
> I was lucky enough to be paired with the incredible lindigo on this bang. She did a couple of absolutely stunning pieces which you can check out [here](https://lindigo.tumblr.com/post/177162404898/brotzly-kisses-sourced-from).
> 
> Rated M for the eventual love spell scene. Main pairing is obviously Brotzly, but there's also a little Farina in there, and Pantlas might make an appearance or two. Contains canon-typical violence and angst because Blackwing still sucks, and Todd still thinks he’s a walking garbage can. Also swearing. 
> 
> Title is inspired by 'Alive' by Madden because I'm predictable like that.
> 
> Finally, I'd like to give a shoutout to my dad for being my beta (yes, you read that correctly), to all the other bang participants for being so supportive, and to Mod Hellz for being the literal sweetest, most helpful and accommodating peach. 
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments if the mood strikes you! I've worked incredibly hard on this fic so far, and your feedback is much appreciated. Much love, and stay tuned for the rest! <3
> 
> -Tuna

Todd couldn’t get it out of his head. Sometimes it happened early in the morning, filtering in unbidden like the sun through the slats of whatever barn he was hiding in. Sometimes it happened at night, after an endless day spent looking over his shoulder. But it never differed. Whenever his brain had the chance to slow down, images started to flash through his mind’s eye, snapshots of that fateful evening when he and Amanda had walked into his apartment to find Dirk and Farah poring over a map on his counter. It was the first time they had all been in a room together: Amanda so eager, Farah displaying the utmost focus, Dirk wide-eyed with excitement, and in hindsight, a kind of last-ditch hopefulness. At the time, Todd had wanted nothing to do with it. Now, he spent every day wishing he could go back to that night. He wasn't sure if the universe had a sense of humor, but if it did, it was definitely a sick one.

Todd and Farah had been on the road for a little over a month now. They had traversed the forests and farms of Oregon, the dusty back roads of California, and the ghost towns of Nevada, following lead after lead, every one of them a dead end. Literally zero progress had been made, and they were rapidly running out of resources. 

In the face of this, Todd was trying his best to stay positive. True, his sister and best friend were missing, he and Farah were being hunted, and he was dealing with the advent of his very own nerve disease. But whenever the panic threatened to set in, or a lead didn’t pan out, or he suffered a particularly painful attack, he simply asked himself what Dirk would do. The answer was almost always: ‘Replace all negative emotions with unbridled optimism and faith in the universe, and keep going’. Pre-Dirk Todd would never have followed this advice, but this was Todd 2.0. So he went on, vowing silently to himself that he, Amanda, Farah and Dirk would all be in a room together soon. Hopefully far away from Blackwing. And this time, he wouldn’t take it for granted.

On one balmy evening, Todd and Farah were nearing Nevada’s edge when they passed a Mexican grill by the side of the road. Normally, they avoided public places like the plague, but they were starving and hadn't seen a restaurant in miles, so they decided to pull in and grab a quick bite to eat. Farah parked stealthily behind the restaurant and quietly exited the car, tugging her hat down over her eyes as she did so. Todd followed suit, pulling the hood of his sweater over his head. They walked around the building and through the front door, where they subtly performed a visual sweep of the establishment.

It was the type of cheesy Mexican place Todd had seen countless times before. Piñatas hung from the ceiling, neon cacti and pictures of matadors covered the walls, and the mainly Caucasian wait staff were dressed in mariachi costumes with colorful ponchos and huge sombreros.

Tacky? Most definitely. But inauthenticity aside, the place didn't pose any immediate threats, so they made their way over to an empty table. They were about to sit down when they heard a tinny voice cut through the air. 

“...any information regarding the whereabouts of Todd Brotzman, Amanda Brotzman, or Farah Black, currently wanted in connection with several crimes, including…”

They froze on the spot and looked up at the television that hung in the corner. Broadcast on the screen were their pictures, grainy and warped, but unmistakable. 

“Shit,” Todd said under his breath, his heart accelerating. He quickly scanned the restaurant to see if any of the customers happened to be paying attention to the TV. So far they all seemed buried in their food or their phone, but it would only take one observant person to blow their cover. He turned to Farah, fighting the urge to sprint out of the restaurant as fast as he could. “Shit, this is bad, Farah, this is really--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Farah whispered fiercely, “say my name.” She swallowed and glanced down at the ground. “Slowly, calmly go back to the car. I'll meet you there in five minutes.”

“But--”

“Now.”

Todd knew better than to object to that tone of voice. So with his heartbeat echoing hollowly through his body, he walked out the door of the restaurant and snuck back to their parking spot. Once he was out of sight, he reached into the pocket of his sweater and pulled out Amanda’s prescription bottle. He gulped a couple of pills down, and then leaned against the wall to wait for Farah, staring anxiously at his watch the whole time. Five minutes later on the dot, she rounded the corner, and Todd breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was a close one,” he said.

Farah slumped against the wall and stared straight ahead, stony-faced. “Too close,” she replied.

“Well, at least now they won't catch us dining and dashing,” Todd joked. When Farah didn’t respond, he put a hand on her shoulder and said, “Look, nobody noticed us. We're fine.”

“For how long, Todd?” she asked. “How long before we can't do anything, can't go anywhere without being recognized?” She shook her head with a frustrated breath and sank to the ground. “I should've thought this through better, I-- We can't just--”

“Hey,” Todd interrupted, kneeling down to join her on the gravel. “I know things suck right now, but… I really think everything is gonna be okay. Your next lead will put us on the right track, I'm sure of it.”

“You have too much faith in me,” Farah said through gritted teeth.

“It's easy to put faith in you,” Todd told her. “But it's more than that. You and I should know better than anyone that things aren't always what they seem. It all has to come together in the end, right? Isn't that how it always works?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Todd, you solved exactly one case with Dirk before all this happened.”

Todd shrugged. “I guess one was enough.”

Farah sniffed, cleared her throat, and then said, “We should probably disguise ourselves from now on. In case something like this happens again.”

“Disguise ourselves how?”

She stopped to think for a moment. “A new hairstyle,” she said. “Definitely. It's cost-efficient, virtually untraceable, and remarkably effective. Maybe you can dye yours blond.”

Todd laughed. “Yeah, that's… that's not happening. I'd willingly turn myself in to the FBI before I did that. How about a pair of cool sunglasses instead?”

Farah’s face softened and she let her head fall back against the wall as she chuckled quietly. Todd felt a grin spread across his face to match. It was rare for her to let her guard down like this, but when she did, it was breathtaking. 

It was no secret that Todd had been attracted to Farah from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. In fact, her beauty had pretty much rendered him speechless. And over the past few weeks, he’d grown to know her even better. He knew that she was steadfast, brave, and scarily capable with both a gun and her fists. He also knew that she was a bundle of nerves and self-doubt who happened to have an encyclopedic knowledge of law enforcement and how to hotwire cars. He respected her deeply, he trusted her, he relied on her, and he knew it was mutual. They were past unrequited crushes; they needed each other to survive.

That's not to say that Todd wasn't still attracted to Farah, because he was. He just knew better than to act on it in their current situation. Which is why he felt a little confused when Farah turned to him with an intent look in her eyes, her smile fading into something more serious as she leaned her head against the dull red brick.

Then, without any warning whatsoever, she put a hand on his cheek and surged forwards, enveloping his lips in an eager kiss. The force of it almost sent Todd tumbling backwards, and he made a surprised noise against her mouth. _This is it_ , he thought. _The moment you’ve been waiting for. It's finally happening, and it’s…_

_...underwhelming._

Maybe he just needed to concentrate harder. He gripped Farah’s waist and began vehemently returning the kiss. Her mouth was warm and velvety, just like he’d imagined. Her hair smelled like a fusion of her shampoo and the warm Nevada breeze, coconut and hibiscus mingling with dust and old wood. Her hands were soft and gentle as they slipped into his hair and stroked his scalp. But despite being acutely aware of all these sensations, Todd didn’t feel a thing.

He knew better than to expect fireworks, of course, but he was hoping for at least a spark. Something to distinguish this from all the meaningless hook-ups he’d had in his life. And then, right on cue, his mind circled back to that night in his kitchen, and the snapshots began to play. He worked with it, zeroing in on Farah. The way her flawless skin glowed in the soft apartment light. The sharp line of her cheekbones, jaw, neck. The leather jacket she’d worn so well over that button-up. He tried to reconcile the longing he’d felt then with the sensation of Farah against him now, hoping it would elicit some sort of special response. Butterflies, tingles up his spine, anything. But no. 

Then, Todd’s focal point started sliding slightly to the left. To a pair of blue eyes, crinkled at the edges in a smile. A wash of pale skin, dotted with perfect freckles. A bright outfit that clung just right to the person who wore it. With that thought, an intense rush of adrenaline shot through Todd’s system, and his eyes flew open.

Holy _shit_.

He would rather have been kissing Dirk.


	2. Space Rabbits

It was dreary inside the apartment. The blinds were pulled down, but judging by the dim light emanating from their edges, Dirk thought it must have been around twilight. Whether it was dawn or dusk, he didn't know. Maybe dusk. It felt more like dusk. 

He wasn't sure how he'd ended up here or why he'd come. All he felt was a niggle at the base of his skull, telling him there was something important here. Or something he'd forgotten. Or something he needed to watch out for. Or something else entirely. 

He was unsuccessfully trying to narrow down these options when he felt a hand land on the small of his back. He arched away from it slightly and whipped around to find Todd staring up at him.

“Oh, it’s you,” Dirk sighed. “You’re here.”

Todd raised an eyebrow. “Dirk, this is my apartment.”

_Oh_ , Dirk thought as he took a cursory look around the place. _Of course it is_. He smiled sheepishly as he met Todd's eyes again. God, it felt good to see him. Safe and comfortable, like what he imagined home must feel like. 

“I've missed you,” Dirk said.

“I didn't go anywhere.”

“No, I have. I think. I--”

“My clothes look good on you,” Todd interrupted, smirking. 

Dirk looked down and realized that he was wearing Todd's Mexican Funeral t-shirt. He prepared to say something in reply, but when he cast his gaze back up, he saw not only that Todd had bridged the gap between them, but that he was leaning in. His enormous blue eyes were growing closer by the second, and Dirk suddenly found it hard to care about trivialities like how or why he was here. His eyes fell shut, lips parting in anticipation, but before anything could happen, Todd abruptly said, “Awake.”

Dirk blinked his eyes open in confusion. “What?” he asked.

“Awake,” Todd repeated.

Dirk's heart sank. He knew what this was. “Todd, wait, please--”

_Awake. Awake. Awake. You are awake._

Dirk sat bolt upright in bed as alarms blared and lights flashed across his room. Shit.

His door swung open and a couple of stony-faced Blackwing guards stomped in, planting themselves on either side of it.

“Up,” the shorter of the two barked.

Dirk rolled his eyes. “Five more minutes?” he said sarcastically, getting out of bed and shuffling into the hall.

Guards at his back, he traipsed down the corridor, trying not to think about what his sixty-third day of testing had in store for him. By this point, they'd run the gamut from flashcard guessing games to telling him that someone he cared about would die each time he didn't identify the correctly-colored marble. Each day, the tests became more elaborate, more demeaning, more painful. And each day, he came no closer to getting any of them right. He would've refused to participate at all, but Dirk was familiar enough with Blackwing methods to know that obedience was the less traumatic option. 

His only solace over the past seventy days had been Todd. Impossible, miraculous Todd. He got through his days by recalling every second they’d spent together in vivid detail. Imagining a million different rescue scenarios. Dreaming about him, not just when he was asleep, but also when the experiments became too much and drifting away was the only option. 

At first, he'd tried not to resort to these out-of-body experiences. He was a different person now than he'd been sixteen years ago. He was a successful detective (arguably). He had an agency (almost). He had friends (three). He had looked death in the face too many times to count, and only occasionally shrieked at it in fear. He wanted to believe he could make it through this by staying present and alert, assuming _through_ was, in fact, the direction he was headed. And he’d initially succeeded at this, staying lucid as he blundered his way through test after test, repeating variations of “This isn't how it works”, “I'm not psychic” and “Where are my friends?” But at this point, nine weeks deep into testing, it was so much easier to let go, to leave behind the deafening buzzers and electric shocks, and instead picture himself snugly wrapped in Todd's wiry arms.

Under normal circumstances, thinking about his best friend in such a way might have made Dirk feel ashamed, but there was nothing normal about the situation he was in, and he'd been helplessly head over heels for Todd since day one (which was technically also day seven?) so he was willing to take whatever comfort he could. He might feel awkward about it if the two of them were ever reunited, and he knew that Todd would never return his affection, especially not with Farah in the picture. But awkwardness and unrequited pining would be a massive upgrade from the problems he was currently facing. It would mean they were all alive and together again.

Dirk blinked and realized he was sitting at a table, facing an apparatus that was made up of four spinning cuboids with shapes printed on them. In front of him on the table were four buttons, also with shapes on them: a pentagon, a parallelogram, a star, and a semicircle. He glared sullenly at them, awaiting his instructions.

_Focus_ , an overly cheerful voice told him. _Predict the correct image_.

“I'm not psychic,” Dirk said, more out of habit than anything else. “This won't work.”

Hearing no response as usual, Dirk shrugged and slammed down the star button.

_Wrong_ , the voice proclaimed as a loud buzzer sounded, and in case that wasn't clear enough, the word was displayed in offensive red on a large screen to his right. 

Dirk sighed in defeat. The test was arbitrary and pointless, but it was still jarring to see his failure being so unnecessarily magnified. Gritting his teeth, he hit the pentagon button and prepared for the inevitable.

_Wrong._

If looks could kill, the machine would have spontaneously combusted.

The next room held pretty standard Blackwing fare. Electrocution Plinko. This was one test they never seemed to tire of giving him, even though he had never once gotten it right (the closest he'd come was thinking _Three_ , but saying “Two” by accident; the ball had landed in three), and it was the most physically painful. This time was no exception.

Twenty minutes later, feeling rather tingly, Dirk was led to the third room of the day. He dragged his feet inside and slumped down at a table, upon which sat a complicated-looking device with all manner of wires attached. He had no sooner put on the accompanying blindfold than he heard the familiar voice ring through the speakers. _Disarm the device_ , it ordered him.

After a few seconds of pointless tinkering, a buzzer sounded, and something cold, gooey and foul-tasting suddenly spurted onto his face. Dirk went rigid with shock before ripping the blindfold off and looking resignedly at the wall.

“This isn't how this works,” he said again to anyone who might be listening, blue slime dangling ungracefully from his mouth. “I'm not psychic.”

“Yes, you are,” he heard a voice say.

“No, I'm not,” Dirk responded automatically.

“Yesyouare,” the voice persisted.

“Look, saying it quick doesn't make it true someho-- Wait. Who is that, is that… not the recording?”

He held his breath and waited, longing for a chance to speak to a human being who might have some understanding of what was going on. 

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably about ten or fifteen seconds, the voice spoke again. “Could you… try harder?”

With a sinking feeling, Dirk realized who the voice belonged to. It was Friedkin. Because of course it was.

“Try harder?” he repeated venomously, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or fling himself through the two-way mirror and throttle the man. “What's changed? Why are you talking to me now?” He stood up and slowly approached the glass, seventy days’ worth of unexpressed words beginning to flow from him. “I've been in here for two months, and surprise! _Nothing works_. Dead end. They did this to me when I was a child for _years_ , and it went _nowhere_. Look, cases come to me. I don't find them. That's what being a holistic detective is. I'm not designed to solve your problems!” He shut his mouth, suddenly fearing what might happen if he said anything more. Taking a steadying breath, he sat back down in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. After a moment, he peered plaintively up at the glass and asked, “What have you done to my friends?”

“We’re gonna get ‘em,” Friedkin said, not that confidently.

“So you haven't got them?” Dirk asked, his heart soaring with hope.

“D-- No! I mean--” Friedkin sputtered angrily for a second before continuing. “They ran away, man. Th-they ran away, and they left you, and you're alone here. No one's coming, so just… _Try. Harder._ ”

Dirk stared at the glass for a moment, but he decided not to push the matter. Even if Friedkin was correct and his friends had abandoned him, they were safe for now, and that was enough. With a heavy sigh, Dirk picked up the blindfold and placed it back over his eyes. Trying to let his instincts guide him, he lifted a hand, braced himself, and slammed it down on a random button.

_Splat._

\---

Hoodie bunched beneath his head, Todd leaned against the passenger window, gazing serenely at the trees and fields that rolled by in sun-kissed shades of green.

“It's kind of peaceful here,” he mused.

“Especially when you've been on the run for two months,” Farah agreed.

She wasn't wrong. The sleepy Montana landscape provided a stark contrast to the intense pressure they'd been living under, and Todd was glad for the change of scenery. It had been a rough few weeks.

After the Mexican restaurant, they'd holed themselves up in a small-town Idaho motel in an effort to avoid being recognized (or tracked down). For almost two weeks, they’d spent their time on useless research and unworkable plans, trying not to go stir-crazy.

Eventually, their lack of progress had driven Farah to her breaking point. Uncharacteristically throwing caution to the wind, she had hacked into her brother’s Homeland Security account to see if she could drag up any classified information. The good news was that she’d uncovered their first real lead in weeks: an old house with apparent Blackwing ties in some nowhere town called Bergsberg. The bad news was that her brother had noticed her infiltration and demanded to meet up with her. They were on their way now. It wasn’t exactly the family reunion Todd had been hoping for, but he was sure Farah would handle it. He trusted her implicitly.

That being said, there was an enormous elephant in the room. It had been almost three weeks since their little transgression behind the restaurant, and neither of them had said a word about it since, or tried to initiate anything further. Todd was grateful for this in a sense, as his romantic interests had shifted dramatically that night, and he wasn't ready to explain this to Farah, especially when he'd barely processed it himself. But he didn't like that there was this unspoken _thing_ between them now. At a time like this, they should’ve been on exactly the same page. No secrets, no shame. Like a team. 

All Todd could do was hope this house would provide them with the answers they were looking for. Maybe then things would go back to normal. It seemed like Farah was on the verge of giving up, and Todd was afraid that if one more lead went sideways, she'd abandon the effort altogether, and he'd never see Dirk or Amanda again.

As they passed a weather-beaten sign welcoming them to Bergsberg, Todd sat up and gathered his hoodie onto his lap.

“We used to play towns like this on tour,” he remarked.

“Honestly, it's a lot safer out here than in the cities,” Farah said, her hands firmly gripping the steering wheel.

“I still don't see why I can't tell my parents I'm okay.”

“Their lines are definitely bugged,” she reminded him. “Blackwing would be listening, it's too dangerous.”

“And meeting with your brother isn't?”

“That was just a matter of time,” she said with a wry smile. “Using his log-ins to access CIA networks? He was bound to notice. Todd, we don't--”

“I know those other leads have all been dead ends,” Todd quickly cut her off, “but this next one is gonna be--”

“That's what you've said every time,” Farah interrupted. She sounded worn out. “This is... the last time.”

“We find Blackwing, we find Dirk,” Todd said firmly. “We find Dirk, we find Amanda, and we get out of this mess.”

“Yeah, how do we do that exactly?”

Todd hesitated. He hadn't really thought through the specifics. “It'll be like a… holistic thing,” he landed on, causing Farah to peel her eyes from the road just long enough to give him an exasperated look. “Wherever this next lead is taking us, there'll be some kind of connection. Somewhere, right now, Dirk is waiting for us to find him, and he'll know how to fix this.”

“Like he knew how to fix the Patrick Spring case?” she asked measuredly. 

Todd furrowed his brow. “Hey, did we or did we not save Lydia?” 

“We did,” Farah replied. “But how many people had to die before Dirk stumbled on the solution?”

Todd opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it again. He picked at a loose thread on his hoodie while he tried to think of a response.

“Look,” she continued. “I know that's how his whole… thing works. All I'm saying is that blind faith in the universe isn't going to get us anywhere, and we're running out of options.” She pursed her lips and took a deep breath. “We’re in trouble, Todd.”

“We've _been_ in trouble,” he said, shifting in his seat to face her. “We’ve been in trouble for two months, and we’ve made it this far. We can't give up now, Farah. This is my little sister we're talking about. And Dirk.” He leaned in slightly. “Did he ever talk to you about Blackwing? Like, really talk to you about it? Because God only knows what kind of torture they're putting him through right now. He's probably alone and scared and hurting, and I'm sure as hell not giving up while there's still a chance we can save him.”

Neither of them said anything for a while. Todd stared at Farah with large, pleading eyes as she chewed on her bottom lip, hyper-focused on the road ahead.

“Let's just... see where this lead takes us,” she managed, “and if it comes up empty, we'll reevaluate.”

Todd smiled gratefully at her. Satisfied for now, he settled back in his seat, watching as sprawling farms and decrepit houses flicked past the window. 

_This is going to be the one_ , he thought. _It has to be._

\---

It had been another arduous day of testing, and Dirk was lying in the dark of his room, doing his best to recover. He felt broken, numb, like his consciousness was occupying someone else’s body. It wouldn't be long now until he was just an empty husk in a horrid jumpsuit.

Suddenly, he was startled by a burst of noise erupting outside. He frowned in confusion, peering over his shoulder at the door. He couldn't see anything, but he heard the sound of rapid gunfire and alarms blaring. After a split second, the lights in his room flickered on, and the voice recording began announcing, _Alert. Alert. Alert._ Ice spiked through his veins. With the speed of a not-psychic who had suffered multiple electric shocks that day, he clambered out of bed, standing as far away from the door as he could, bracing himself for the unknown.

He didn't have to wait long before the door flew open, and in burst--

_Todd._

Holding a crossbow, sporting a pair of aviator sunglasses, and dressed head to toe in secret-agent black, Todd Brotzman stood in Dirk's doorway. He was followed closely by Farah, who wore a similar outfit, though her weapon of choice was a machine gun. Dirk had never been more pleased to see anyone in his life.

“Come on, Dirk,” Todd barked. “We have to go, _now_.”

“You came!” Dirk rejoiced. “You came to rescue me!”

“That's right,” Todd said. “We're bad-asses now. We're big bad-asses, and we came to rescue you, Dirk.”

“We used a magic rock given to us by Thor to find you,” Farah said fiercely. 

Dirk slammed his fist into his hand, feeling utterly vindicated. “I _knew_ I could rely on Thor!”

“Hurry up!” Todd pushed. “We need to get to the Lost City of Gold and collect the Sacred Algae before it's too late!”

“Yeah, Dirk, we need that algae!” Farah added emphatically.

“Okay!” Dirk said, slamming his fist into his hand again for good measure. “Let's go!” 

He threw himself across his bed in the best barrel roll he could muster and leapt to his feet, excitedly looking between Todd and Farah, who were now wearing a gorilla and a giraffe mask, respectively. Odd choice, but he wasn't going to question-- _Shit._

“Oh,” Dirk said, heart plummeting lower than he'd thought possible. “This is a dream, isn't it?”

His masked friends had no sooner murmured their assent than Dirk’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright with a gasp. He was still in bed, the lights were still off, and two Blackwing guards were standing where Todd and Farah had been just moments before. 

He was suddenly seized with the overwhelming urge to just quit. To lie down, close his eyes and not open them again for any reason. What could Blackwing do to him that was worse than what they'd already done?

Before he could come up with an answer, the guards were on either side of him, yanking him out of bed and dragging him out the door. 

“Wh-- Hold a moment,” Dirk protested, trying to squirm out of their grasp. “I’m quite capable of walking by myself, thank you.”

The guards said nothing, continuing to manhandle Dirk down several corridors before stopping in front of a door and swiping it open.

“Hands off, hands off!” Dirk said indignantly as they shoved him inside. “I am _not_ a shopping cart.”

The door closed with a loud slam, making Dirk jump. He sighed huffily, glaring at it for a moment before becoming aware of a steady beeping behind him. He froze. It had been almost two decades since he’d heard that sound. He spun around to see an unconscious bearded man lying on a hospital bed, significantly older and frailer than the last time Dirk had seen him. He was attached to several hospital machines, and above his bed was a large-scale Blackwing symbol, one of the only ones Dirk recognized besides his own: two interlocking circles that formed a diagonal Venn diagram, with one bigger circle surrounding them both. 

“Oh,” Dirk breathed, as he approached Project Moloch. “What have they done to you?”

Project Moloch, as he was wont to do, said nothing.

Dirk flapped his hands around Moloch’s lifeless body. “Do you need anything?” he asked fruitlessly. “Can I-- Here, let's do this.” He gently fluffed the pillow behind Moloch’s head, then gave his thin, veiny arm a kind pat. “There, you look better already.” 

He glanced around until he located a chair, which he pulled up to Moloch’s bedside. He sat down and took the man’s papery hand in his.

“Look at us both,” he said glumly. “Just like old times. God, how long has it been? I must've been in my teens last time I saw you. I suppose I've grown up quite a bit since then. As have you! Or perhaps ‘aged’ is the more appropriate term in your case. No offense.” Dirk squeezed Moloch’s hand comfortingly (though whether he was trying to comfort Moloch or himself was anyone’s guess). 

“Anyway, it's good to see you,” he went on. “Even though it means we're both… here.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Are you hating the new management as much as I am? Listen, I never thought I'd say this, but I _actually_ miss Riggins. I much prefer him to that godawful Friedkin character.” He gingerly returned Moloch’s hand to the bed and collapsed back into his chair with a sigh.

“I honestly have no idea why I'm here,” he lamented. “After _sixteen years_. Sixteen years of freedom, and now I'm back in this antiseptic wasteland, taking the same useless tests, answering the same useless questions. Nobody understands how I work. Nobody listens. And the worst part is, before they took me, I was finally starting to think my life might turn out… not miserably. You know, I actually had friends out there for once? This woman, Farah, she was _really_ incredible, like a… like a ninja-woman, and I-- Ooh.” Dirk tried to think of the most tactful way to phrase this next bit. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt Moloch’s feelings, provided he was conscious enough to _have_ feelings. 

“Rough news,” he began. “I have replaced you as my assistant. The new guy, Todd…” How to describe Todd? Beautiful? Enigmatic? Underqualified yet enthusiastic, despite his grouchy exterior? “...is perfect,” Dirk settled on, grinning dopily. “Although, warning, there's a chance the government might have killed them both.” 

Dirk’s monologue was interrupted by a squawk of feedback from the intercom. “So you’ve, like… met this guy before?” Friedkin’s voice rang out.

Dirk’s back stiffened. Of course Friedkin had been listening. Blackwing would never grant him a moment alone and unsupervised with an old friend.

“When I was small,” he answered. “Riggins used to take me in to see him, and a few of the others he said weren’t too dangerous.” He allowed himself a half-smile as he reminisced. “I remember him well. He always just laid there. Never interrupted me. He was the nicest person I’ve ever met.” Dirk let his eyes travel over Moloch’s fragile-looking body. “What have you done to him? Why has he lost so much weight?” he spat.

“He had a stroke when we moved him,” Friedkin responded exhaustedly. 

Dirk squinted, his purpose in this room becoming all too clear. “Am I supposed to, what? Magic him awake?” he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Touch my forehead and do a constipated face, and things get better? Because you’ve run out of ideas, and you _know_ something bad is going to happen soon?” 

Overcome by a dash of bravery, or perhaps a dash of just not giving a damn anymore, he jumped up to the mirror, staring threateningly at the spot where he imagined Friedkin’s eyes to be. “Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t going to work,” he told him. “Fate and chance are not mutually exclusive, Mr. Friedkin, and if you keep on this path, you’re going to get a healthy dose of both.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, now positive that he was face-to-face with his tormentor. “It’s probably already started, and you haven’t even noticed,” he pressed on, beginning to lose his faculties to the red-hot rage rising inside him. 

He lifted a hand and violently slammed it against the glass. “This isn’t how it works,” he said, his voice trembling dangerously. “I am _not_ a ma _chine_!” _Slam. Slam._ Both hands. “You can’t control it!” He pounded his palms into the glass, tears springing to his eyes, more rage than man now. “This isn’t how it works!” He felt himself being grabbed by the upper arms, pulled backwards, but still he cried out. “Do you understand? This isn’t how it works!”

The guards heaved him out of the room, and he struggled against them, trying to claw his way out of their grasp. If Blackwing was so keen on weaponizing him, they should let him at Friedkin. He’d show them how much of a weapon he could be. But his captors were too strong, and soon he was being forcibly dragged down the hallway towards his room, the guards gripping him tight enough to leave bruises.

“Get your hands off me, you monsters!” Dirk screamed, thrashing his legs against them. 

He felt one of their hands trying to clamp his mouth shut, so he sunk his teeth into it, letting out a yelp when the man backhanded him across the face. In that moment, all the fight deserted him, and he immediately quieted, letting his entire body go limp. 

“That’s what I thought, you fucking freak,” he heard the guard mutter.

Dirk took in a watery breath and closed his eyes, feeling himself slip away from reality.

_Todd…_

The next thing he knew, his door was being slammed shut. He was on his bed. Arms aching, cheek stinging, resolve weakening. A buzzer sounded and he was plunged into darkness. Lights out. He rolled away from the door and grabbed his pillow, curling himself around it as he broke down into quiet sobs. 

Maybe he’d had the right idea earlier. Maybe he _would_ just stop. Stop cooperating, stop participating, stop talking, eating, moving, everything. For too long, he’d been surviving in this place like a charred corpse. Lying on his bed right now, helpless and hopeless, he felt as though he'd finally disintegrated into ash. He wasn't getting rescued, he wasn't getting released, and he wasn’t going to escape. So they could do whatever they wanted to his body. He existed mostly in his mind now, anyway.

Feeling hollow, he wiped his face on his sleeve and rolled onto his back. Like he did every night, he stared emptily at the ceiling, hands folded on his middle, mindlessly wiggling his foot back and forth as he waited to sink into oblivion. But right as his eyes were about to close, he spotted something descending from his ceiling vent. He squinted at it through the darkness. What was it, an... insect of some sort? He watched it carefully, its wings making a soft fluttering sound as it traveled the length of his body. It wasn’t until it was hovering directly in front of his face that he realized it was a moth. What was a moth doing in the vents of a high-tech government facility like Blackwing?

He got his answer when it swooped out of sight beneath his bed, and not one second later, a girl with short black hair and glowing green eyes resurfaced in its place. Dirk’s arms shot to his sides in shock. 

It was Mona Wilder. Her eyes were different, but he would recognize that face anywhere.

“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.

She leaned in close and whispered, “ _Find the boy_.”

“Wh--?”

But before he could formulate a question (and he had many), Mona grinned mischievously, snatched the cup of water from beside his bed, and threw its contents in his face. 

And then the darkness enveloped him.


	3. Fans of Wet Circles

This had to be another dream. Either that, or Dirk had finally lost the plot. How else could he explain falling through a bed for who knew how long, and then finding himself in a pitch-black, cramped space? Because somehow, that's exactly what he’d done.

Was this what happened to Blackwing subjects who outlived their usefulness? They got swallowed by their beds into a claustrophobe’s nightmare? Or perhaps this was a new after-hours test they were trying out, a way of punishing him for his defiance. If so, they were rather gilding the lily.

Suddenly, Dirk's train of thought was cut off by the ominous sound of creaking metal. He froze, trying not to move a single muscle as he felt his confines tilting forwards. Wherever he was, he was beginning to doubt its stability. He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut as gravity took its course, flipping him arse over tea-kettle before he landed with a gigantic, rocking crash.

When the dust settled, and Dirk was sure he was safe (ish), he opened his eyes. He still couldn't see anything. He just felt squished. And achy. And damp.

He took a trembling breath and tried to stay calm, even though his palms were pricking with sweat and his chest was distressingly tight. He wasn't a fan of being trapped in small spaces, and there seemed to be a limited amount of air in here. He needed out. Now. Without pausing to think, he began slamming his hands and feet against the walls of the chamber. It didn't give. He gave it two solid kicks. Still nothing. 

He paused to regain his energy, which was when he heard a pair of muffled voices coming from just outside. He stopped short and strained his ears, catching broken fragments of their conversation.

“...be dangerous…”

“...the gun’s for…”

“...shoot me if something pops out…”

Dirk wasn’t sure whether these voices belonged to friends or foes, but he knew they were his ticket out of here. He threw himself at the wall a couple of times to get their attention. One of the voices emitted a high-pitched squeak, to which the other replied something including the words, “...open the damn trunk…” 

_Trunk_ , Dirk thought to himself. He must have landed in the boot of a car somehow. He hadn’t the slightest idea how this was possible, but before he could think through the logistics, the boot sprang open and he hit the ground hard, barrel-rolling into a sea of blinding light. Panting, he scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly. When he saw where he was (or more accurately, where he wasn’t), his jaw dropped in astonishment.

This wasn’t Blackwing.

“I'm free,” he breathed in disbelief.

For the first time in two months, he was outside. He felt a gentle breeze ruffle his hair, smelled the fresh, crisp scent of morning dew on the grass. The sun warmed his face, its brightness making his eyes ache.

“I’m free!” he crowed, pumping his fists in the air. He spun around with a triumphant cackle, and then stopped dead in his tracks. Because standing frozen in front of him were Todd Brotzman and Farah Black. 

“Oh my _God_!” he cried, involuntarily thrusting his pointer finger at them. 

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, the corner of Todd’s mouth quirked up in a stunned smile.

“Dirk!” he yelled, shooting his fists into the sky as he jumped for joy.

Screams of relieved laughter echoed through the field as both men hopped up and down excitedly. Dirk couldn't remember a time he'd been this happy. Todd was _right in front of him_. Gorgeous, perfect, close enough to touch, beaming because he was happy to see _Dirk_. He didn't think things could get any better than this, but then Todd took a flying leap into his arms, and he realized they just had. As he held him all too briefly, he wondered if it was possible to stay there forever, his hands bunched in the scratchy fabric of Todd's sweater, feeling his best friend warm and alive against him.

When Todd released him and backed up, Dirk flailed delightedly for a couple more seconds before turning to give an enthusiastic shoulder-pat to Farah, who had been still this whole time.

“How long have you been in there?” Todd asked breathlessly. “Farah thinks that car’s been in that tree for fifty years.”

“Fif-? No, it couldn’t have been that long, I would've looked _much_ older,” Dirk said, examining his hands to make sure no age spots or wrinkles had appeared without him noticing.

“Why are you wet?” Farah stammered.

“Now, that is a good question. Unfortunately, I don’t have a great answer. One minute, I was in bed, then Mona said, ‘Find the boy,’ and then I fell through into a world of wet trunkness.”

Todd blinked several times. “Wh-- Mona?” 

“Keep up, Todd, Mona is the _main_ character of that last thing I _just_ said.”

“You fell through a bed?” Farah asked. “Where?”

“Blackwing, naturally.”

“You were in Blackwing!” Todd exclaimed.

“Yes, of course I was, Todd, Jesus,” Dirk said, pulling a face at Farah. Honestly, if this was what she'd had to deal with for the past two months, it was a miracle they'd gotten as far as they had.

“Did you see Amanda there?” Todd asked.

"Well, they don’t exactly let us just wander around the halls, and-- Wait, Amanda?”

“So she could’ve been there, and you just didn’t see her.”

“Why would Amanda be at Blackwing?” Dirk asked. “I mean, she’s not like me or the Rowdy 3. Or Mona, for that matter.”

“Okay, stop, _who is Mona_?” Todd asked, in that wonderful fed-up tone that only he was capable of.

But before Dirk could respond to Todd’s question, he was distracted by the unwelcome wail of a siren. His spine stiffened, and he whipped his head towards the noise to find a cop car pulling up a little ways down the field. 

“Oh no,” Farah said.

“What do we do?” Todd asked frantically, as the siren made odd little chirping sounds in the background. When neither Dirk nor Farah answered him, he threw his hands above his head in surrender.

“Oh,” Dirk said, doing the same.

The siren let out one last pathetic slide-whistle noise before the driver’s side door opened, and a man in a sheriff’s hat poked his head over the side of the car. He grabbed his loudspeaker from inside and yanked it up to his face, the feedback making Dirk’s teeth stand on edge.

“Uh-- N-- Everything’s fine!” he called to the sheriff. “This is… It’s just… This is a picnic!”

The sheriff fumbled for his gun and pointed it at them over the hood of the car. “You are under arrest!” he shouted over the loudspeaker.

“For what?” Todd shouted back.

“You’re all wanted by the FBI!”

Dirk let out a scandalised gasp as he turned to Todd and Farah. “Oh my God, you’re wanted by the FBI? What did you guys _do_?!” He was met by two pairs of glaring eyes.

The sheriff, who was still taking cover behind his car, called out to them once again over the loudspeaker. “I have never arrested anyone before,” he confessed, “so you all should just, you know… be, uh, real cool about it.”

Dirk gave his best approximation of a cool nod. He turned to Todd and Farah to see what their cool behavior looked like, and noticed that Farah was holding her gun above her head. He stared pointedly at her, and she lowered her hand, staring dumbfoundedly at the weapon for a moment.

“Oh,” she said at last, discarding it and taking a little half-step away. Dirk did the same.

“Thank you,” the sheriff hollered. “That was a very cool thing for you to do.”

After an uncomfortably long pause, he added, “So do you three wanna come over here, or…?”

“Not really,” Todd yelled.

The sheriff let go of the loudspeaker. “Oh, for Pete’s sake, of course you don't,” he said good-naturedly, side-stepping the car and walking over, gun still trained on them. “Why would you? Sheriff you barely know pulls up and arrests you-- Heck, I wouldn't wanna come over, either! But unfortunately, I got a job to do, so. Your cooperation’d be much appreciated.” 

“Understood,” Dirk called out, trying to diffuse the tension. “And can I just say, you're doing a great job so far. The last time I had a gun pointed at me, it was nowhere near this pleasant.”

At this, the sheriff dissolved into peals of giggles. “You-- You're a riot!” he said as he reached the overturned car. “I, uh, I don't believe we've met.” 

The sheriff, whose nameplate read ‘Hobbs’, extended a hand to Dirk, who clasped it happily.

“Dirk Gently,” he replied with a bright smile.

“Pleased to meet you, Dirk,” Hobbs said, returning his hand to his gun. “Now, your friends Todd Brotzman and Farah Black over here are wanted criminals, and seeing as you’re colluding with ‘em, I’m afraid I’m gonna have to bring you in for questioning.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to come along for the ride, Sheriff,” Dirk said. “My friends and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Is that so?” Hobbs asked. “Has it been long since you’ve seen ‘em?”

“Far too long. It’s been over two--”

“Dirk, that’s enough,” Todd hissed. Then, turning to the sheriff, he lifted his chin and proclaimed, “I know my rights. We don’t have to answer any of your questions.”

“Ooh!” Hobbs cried. “Ooh, ooh, I forgot to-- Right, okay, here’s the deal. You can remain silent if you want, but that’s totally up to you. We can use what you say against you, though, so just keep that in mind. Also--”

“Shouldn't you be cuffing us?” Farah interrupted.

“Oh, for the love of-- I forgot my dang handcuffs!” the sheriff bemoaned. “Ah, well. I only have the one pair anyway, so this woulda been a real conundrum. S’pose I’ll just have to trust you!”

Farah squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Alrighty,” he proceeded, “we’d best be on our way. If you wouldn’t mind heading over to my vehicle over there, I’ll bring up the rear.”

Dirk smiled obligingly at Hobbs and began shuffling towards the police car, Todd and Farah flanking him on either side. This wasn’t exactly the reunion he’d dreamt about, but he supposed there were far worse places to be than in a field with your two best friends. In fact, as Farah muttered under her breath and Todd began loudly asserting his right to a phone call, Dirk decided there was no place he’d rather be right now. Even if they were all technically under arrest.

\---

Everything had been perfect. In retrospect, that's how Todd should've known shit was about to hit the fan; nothing ever stayed perfect for long where Dirk was concerned. But for a minute there, he'd been hopeful.

When Dirk had tumbled out of that trunk, slightly damp but otherwise unscathed, it felt like all the puzzle pieces in the universe had slid into place. They'd done it. They'd found him. Every law they'd broken, every bedbug-infested motel they'd stayed in, every pararibulitis attack he'd suffered-- in that moment, it was all worth it. Dirk was _there_ , undeniably solid in his arms, and just as beautiful as Todd remembered.

Things had rapidly gone downhill after that. Now they were in jail, Dirk seemed more interested in finding some boy than in finding Amanda, and on top of that, he wouldn't shut up about this Mona person who may or may not have been in bed with him the night before. All in all, not the trappings of the grand, romantic rescue that Todd had been imagining.

All he knew for certain was that they needed to get the hell out of this jail, and out of this shitty town. He hadn't sacrificed everything in his life just to let Officers Dumb and Dumber give him over to the FBI, and he’d kick and scream every step of the way to stop that from happening. There was currently nobody to kick and scream at, however, and he was having trouble sitting still, so he decided to methodically rattle every bar in their cell in the hopes of finding a weak spot. 

Dirk, meanwhile, was perched in his bunk, rambling about their new case, seemingly unaware that neither of the people he was talking to were paying much attention to him.

“The main issue is that there are so many boys,” he was saying. “And we’re really lacking information in the boy department. I mean, if we come across him, how will we know if he's _the_ boy rather than just _a_ boy? Do you see what I mean?”

“Yes, Dirk,” Farah said wearily.

“Ooh, why don’t we ask Hobbs? He’s a sheriff, he's bound to know some boys, right?”

“I don’t think people generally ask their arresting officer if they know any boys,” she told him.

“Oh, please, he barely arrested me,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “It was more of a buy-two-get-one-free situation.”

“Not how it works,” Todd muttered, bending down to slam his palms against some bars on the bottom row.

“Well, whatever happened, it’s a good job we’re all here together,” Dirk declared. “You know what, I’m glad he caught us canoodling.”

“Colluding,” Farah said under her breath.

He snorted. “Farah, while I appreciate your sense of whimsy, now’s really not the time for board games.”

Ignoring the bewildered look on her face, Dirk went back to chattering about boys and where to find them. Todd did his best to tune him out. He feverishly shook bar after bar, his anxiety ramping higher and higher. _Don't have an attack_ , he pleaded with himself. _Don't have an attack, don't have an attack._

That’s when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, alerting him to the fact that Dirk had climbed off his cot, and was now standing about three feet away, scrutinizing him. 

“Todd, the cartoon method of escape…” Dirk began, shuffling closer as Todd turned away to test some adjacent bars. “Is that working out well for you, is what I’m asking?”

Todd wheeled around on him. “Okay, I know you’re calm, but I’m not. I’m out of my medication, we’re under arrest--”

“This may look dire,” Dirk said, unperturbed, “but I promise you everything will work out, just like it did last time.”

Todd’s eyes widened. “Last time? Seriously? Last time, you ended up getting kidnapped, Farah got all of her bank accounts frozen--”

“We’re all on the run from the FBI,” Farah added.

“Yes, but--” Dirk’s face did the equivalent of a record scratch as Todd’s words caught up with him. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘out of medication’? Out of medication for what?” Todd stared at him. _Shit._ His mind scrambled for the right words, but they were just out of reach. “Out of medication for what, Todd?” Dirk asked again, an inquisitive smile spreading over his face.

Todd felt Farah’s eyes on him. He shot her a grim look and then turned back to Dirk. 

“Pararibulitis,” he admitted. “I had my first attack the day you were taken.” 

The news seemed to hit Dirk in stages, several waves of realization visibly washing over him as he stuttered in disbelief. The record was now skipping.

“Listen, I know things haven’t been easy for you, Dirk, but this is…” Todd sighed. “When I first met you, you said the universe would reward us. Instead, we’ve all just been… punished.”

Dirk swallowed and let his eyes fall to the ground, holding up a finger as though the fragility of the universe lay between them, and one false move might shatter it beyond repair. “These things aren’t always what they seem, Todd,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically sober. “It may not always be easy or smooth, but… somehow it all works out in the end. And if it doesn’t, you’re dead, so…” Dirk must have noticed the alarm on Todd’s face, because his eyes promptly grew three times as large. “You won’t die, though, actually, sorry. You, _you_ are going to be okay. We are going to find your sister, and the boy, and probably we’re going to find absolutely anything if we look hard enough!” His bright smile would have been a lot more comforting had it not been for the hint of panic behind his eyes.

“We’re never getting out of here,” Todd said quietly.

Just then, Hobbs strolled into the room with his shifty-looking deputy right behind him. He had what appeared to be an orange construction jacket slung over his shoulder.

“We’re letting you guys out of here!” he announced.

Dirk met Todd’s shocked stare with a smug “I told you so” expression that might have weakened Todd’s knees under less stressful circumstances. 

“Yep,” Hobbs said, swinging their cell doors open. “Now, it’s a little windy out there, Dirk, so I brought you a jacket.”

“Awww,” Dirk gushed appreciatively, as though he’d pointed the jacket out to the sheriff months ago while window-shopping. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Todd cut in. “You’re taking us somewhere?”

“Why exactly are you dressed like an astronaut, anyway?” Hobbs asked Dirk as he slipped into the jacket.

With a quick intake of breath, Dirk popped his collar and adopted a hot shit stance. “I was in a government prison,” he boasted, “for _psychics_.” He topped this off with a smirk that Todd was lucky to have only caught in his periphery.

Hobbs, meanwhile, was having a hell of a time keeping it together. “That is,” he said in a low voice, looking around as he shifted his weight from foot to foot, “that is so dang cool.”

Dirk beamed at him.

“I’m Sheriff Sherlock Hobbs,” he continued, stepping back to introduce the braided, Pop Tart-eating woman behind him, “and this is my deputy, Tina Tevetino.”

“Five days sober!” she proudly proclaimed. “Sort of.”

“And you guys are coming out with us.”

Todd had the sudden feeling that a lot of things were about to happen, all in a short amount of time, and all beyond his control.

\---

A lot of things were happening, all in a short amount of time, and all beyond Dirk’s control. He was used to it. He was riding the wave, like he always did. The difference was that now, he had several people riding it with him. And they were all at risk. 

“Yeah, these are fingers,” Hobbs confirmed, as Farah tentatively touched the gnarled hand stuck in the tree trunk.

“This little bit of hair on the middle knuckle means this finger is connected to an adult male,” she said. “As to how that man got preserved and mummified inside a tree…” 

If he’d been asked three months ago, Dirk would’ve said that this was his biggest dream. Having a team of people working with him, supporting him, believing in him. What he hadn’t considered was what that meant for the team of people. Well, that wasn’t quite true. He just hadn’t _wanted_ to consider it. But now he was being shoved face-to-face with the truth: he couldn’t protect those he cared about. Getting too close to him almost guaranteed something terrible would happen to you. Like getting hunted by the FBI for months. Or your sister disappearing. Or inheriting a genetic disease. 

Maybe the best course of action was to solve this case as quickly and cautiously as possible, and then move on. Find the boy, find Amanda, and get everyone out of this mess. And he could do that. Easily. Backwards and upside down, with his hands tied together, while a mariachi band played in his ear. Probably.

“Is it possible he ate some tree seeds?” he suggested. “Or a baby tree, then developed a stomach ache, went to sleep here, and--”

“Nope,” Todd said flatly, interrupting Dirk’s stellar impression of a tree sprouting out of a grown man’s torso.

Well, damn. This might be harder than he thought. While the others continued theorizing, Dirk tried to concentrate, to settle his buzzing brain and prick up his ears for any signs the universe might be giving him. But meditation of any sort had never been his strong suit, and everyone was talking so bloody loudly about some child or other, and-- _Wait_ , Dirk thought. _Child._ He let out the gasp to end all gasps, reflexively shooting out his hand to grab Todd.

“Yes, of course! _Argh_ , it’s so obvious!” he declared, turning on his heel and stomping away from the tree before dramatically spinning around to face his friends. “The Cardenases had a child, and that child could have been a boy. _The boy._ ‘Find the boy!’” He clapped his hands together with glee. “Ha! Solved it!”

His instinct was to throw himself at Todd and hold him like he’d done earlier, but then he remembered the conversation he'd overheard in the barn. The one that had caused him to grip the air gun so tightly that he'd accidentally fired it through the wall. According to Todd, he and Farah had “gotten close”. Dirk may have been inexperienced in these matters, but he wasn't blind; he'd seen the way they looked at each other, and he’d known all along that the chances of Todd returning his feelings were slim to none. So deciding to remove himself from the equation he swallowed the growing lump in his throat and bounded happily into Hobbs’ arms.

After a moment, Tina skeptically asked, “Did you solve anything, though?” 

“No,” Todd said.

“Not even kind of,” Farah chimed in.

“Just let me have this moment,” Dirk said, smiling serenely as he rested his head on Hobbs’ shoulder. Then, at the last second, he flung out an arm to drag a reluctant Todd into the hug.

_Let me have this moment_ , he repeated in his head, sending a prayer to the indifferent universe as he tried to memorize the feeling of Todd against him. _I don’t know how many I have left._

\---

Night had fallen in Bergsberg. The prison was dark except for the shafts of moonlight tumbling through the window, and the only noises Todd could hear were the crickets chirping incessantly outside, and Farah lightly snoring in her bunk. It gave him the bizarre impression of being at some sort of twisted summer camp that kept its participants in cages. Sighing, he gave his thin pillow a couple of feeble fluffs and rolled onto his other side. 

He wasn't sure why he was having so much trouble sleeping. They’d found Dirk, they were safe from the feds, they were barely being treated like prisoners, and the meds Hobbs had given him seemed to be doing the trick so far (even if they were feline epilepsy pills). Plus they were making some headway in the case, which meant they were closer to finding Amanda.

And yet, his brain wouldn’t shut off. A never-ending loop of the day’s events played behind his eyes, compounding his exhaustion and his desperation for answers.

What had they done to Dirk at Blackwing? How had he turned up in the trunk of that car? What was the nature of his relationship with Mona Wilder? What had Tina meant when she'd asked if Dirk was his Yoko? And why had she alluded to him and Farah having some sort of illicit on-the-road romance? Was that just an assumption, or could she somehow sense that something had happened between them? Shit, could _Dirk_ sense that something had happened between them? Was that why he'd practically jumped into Hobbs’ arms earlier that day? Or was it because Hobbs was good-hearted and excitable, and Todd was a grouchy human trash can?

He looked across the room at Farah. She was dead asleep, hugging her pillow to her head, a wayward moonbeam highlighting her furrowed brow. This could be his chance for a one-on-one with Dirk. He spent the better part of five minutes trying to force himself to speak, feeling like the silence was too thick for his voice to penetrate. He eventually broke it with a hoarse whisper.

“Dirk? Are you awake?” 

“No,” came the immediate reply. “I mean, yes, sorry. I thought you were asking if I was asleep.”

“Oh,” Todd said. He paused, before sheepishly adding, “I can’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

Todd took a long breath as he carefully chose his words. “Hey, listen… I want you to know how happy I am that you’re here. Not just because I think you’re gonna help me find my sister or anything. But… because you’re safe now. Or safer than you were yesterday, I guess.”

“Thank you, Todd,” Dirk said after a few moments. “It’s good to see you, too.” 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been--”

“No, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for,” Dirk interrupted. “You spent two horrible months looking for me, and when I rolled out of that trunk, there you were. Nobody’s gone to such lengths for me before. _Ever._ Nobody who had my best interests in mind, at least. So thank you for that, Todd. Truly. It means the world.”

Todd had no idea how to respond to that, so he decided to change tack completely. “Yeah, how did you end up in that trunk, anyway? You never really… specified what happened there.”

“Honestly, your guess is as good as mine,” Dirk said. “I was in bed, and then Mona showed up out of nowhere and threw water on me. Not the greeting I’d have expected after nearly two decades, but I suppose we Blackwing subjects aren’t known for our conventionality.”

“Wait, she showed up out of nowhere?”

“That’s right.”

“So she wasn’t in bed with you?”

“Wh-- No, of course not, Todd. Why on earth would she have been in bed with me?”

“No, no reason,” Todd stammered. “It’s just, the way you described it before made it sound like…” He cleared his throat. “So when you said you hadn’t seen her in fifteen years, you meant that last night was the first time you’d seen her since they recaptured you?”

“Yes,” Dirk said curtly. “Look, why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”

“Guys,” Farah said groggily from across the room, “you know you’re talking at full volume, right?”

“Sorry,” Dirk and Todd said in unison.

Todd waited motionless until Farah’s gentle snoring began again. After what felt like ages, he breathed Dirk’s name into the void.

“Yes?” Dirk whispered so quietly that the sibilance of the ‘s’ was all that Todd heard.

“When you’re ready, you can talk to me,” Todd murmured. “About Blackwing. About anything. You don’t have to carry all that by yourself if you don’t want to.”

Dirk was silent for so long that Todd wondered if he’d fallen asleep, or if Todd had spoken too softly for him to hear. Just as he was about to whisper his name again, however, he heard a small voice say, “Thank you, Todd. You know, I think I’m actually ready to sleep now. Good night.”

“Okay,” Todd said. “Night.”

He rolled over and looked out the window until his eyes grew heavy, and he drifted off.


	4. Two Broken Fingers

As the weak morning sun began to filter through the bars on the windows, Dirk lay on his bunk, staring blankly in front of him. He hadn’t slept. He hadn’t even tried, despite what he'd said to Todd the night before. All he’d done was stare into the darkness while a dissonant medley of Blackwing and Bergsberg played in his head, thoughts of Todd and Farah occasionally mingling in like a refrain. 

When he considered it, their circumstances had basically been a recipe for consummation. They’d spent two whole months on the run together, probably getting closer with each passing day, comforting one another in times of need... Dirk would have been a fool to think they hadn’t tumbled into a filthy motel bed together at some point. And honestly, he was fine with it. In fact, he was happy for them. He was lucky enough to have people in his life who cared for him; it would be greedy to wish for more.

He was awoken from his trance by the sound of a door opening, followed by Tina’s loud, brash voice.

“Rise and shine, everybody, we got a full day of… well, nothing,” she said, strutting up to them. “But now that you guys are up, you wanna hang out?”

“What’s happening?” came Todd’s voice from above Dirk. “Are we free to go?”

“Just ‘cause you’re prisoners does not mean you have to live like caged animals,” Tina said earnestly, leaning against their cell.

“Actually,” Farah began, “the term ‘prisoner’ literally--”

“--means something different today than it used to,” Dirk interrupted, hurrying out of his bunk and up to the prison bars, shooting Farah a pointed look between them. “Words change meaning. Like ‘literally,’ which now figuratively means ‘totally.’ So it’s perfectly acceptable to say--”

“It’s too early for this,” Todd grumbled from his bunk.

“Excuse me, Tina,” Dirk pressed on, side-eyeing her through the bars. “I know this is a strange ask, but, um, do you have any clothes I could wear?”

“Clothes?” Tina repeated. “Sure. We got all sorts of old uniforms.”

“You’re offering us… police uniforms?” Farah asked.

“Old ones,” Tina said. “Plus, if you wanna look, Hobbs has got stuff in evidence lock-up from the campgrounds every year after Sound of Nothing, since, like, the 80s.”

“And by ‘Sound of Nothing,’ you mean…?” Dirk prompted.

Tina grinned, moving closer to Dirk and excitedly crowding her body against the cell. “It’s a music festival.”

Dirk took a quick step towards Tina and peered through the steel at her. “You’re telling me you’ve got, like, vintage police uniforms, and old rockstar hippy clothes, and you’re just… willing to let us wear them.”

“Yup. Wanna come on out and take a look?”

Dirk gave a low hum of approval, inclining his head in one deliberate nod.

“Okay!” Tina said enthusiastically, bolting out of the room.

“Door,” Dirk reminded her.

“Oh, yeah, sorry, sorry!” she called out.

A moment later, a ring of keys came flying towards the cell. Todd thrust his hand through the bars to try and catch them, but they bounced off his hand and fell at his feet. He begrudgingly bent over to pick them up.

“You’re thinking about clothes right now?” he asked.

“It’s getting us out of our cell, isn’t it?” Dirk said, leaning against the prison bars and watching as Todd fumbled through the keys. “And now we can finally get out of these horrendous get-ups. Not you, Farah, you look radiant as always. But this jumpsuit is starting to chafe, and dishcloth chic _really_ isn’t working for you, Todd.”

Todd rolled his eyes. “At least I don’t look like a traffic cone,” he retorted, gesturing to the orange jacket on Dirk’s bed where it was currently doubling as a pillow. 

Before Dirk could deliver an appropriately indignant response, Todd fit the correct key into the lock, and the cell door swung open.

“Well, it’s about time,” Dirk muttered, brushing past Todd on his way out.

“Yep,” Farah said under her breath, raising an eyebrow. “Really been missing this.”

Todd let Farah out of her cell, and then they all headed over to evidence lock-up, where they found Tina rummaging through several overflowing boxes of clothes.

“Ooh, you’re here!” she squealed, leaping to her feet. “Farah, I already picked out something for you.” She shoved a pile of clothes into Farah’s arms with a smirk. “Todd, you’ll probably find something in one of these boxes. And Dirk, wait ‘til you see what I have over here.”

She led him to an enormous box in the corner of the room that was filled with several decades’ worth of vibrant-looking garments. Dirk's mouth began watering at the sight of it, and he sank to his knees, reverently laying a hand on its surface. God, he had missed color.

“Oh, Tina, these are brilliant,” he breathed.

“There’s a mirror right there,” she said, pointing to a full-length mirror propped up against a nearby shelf. “Go ham, my man.”

Dirk tore himself away from the box and glanced up at his friends. “Would you mind leaving me alone to try some of these on?”

Todd looked up from the handful of clothes he was holding. “Oh,” he said. “Sure.” He turned to leave, and then turned over his shoulder to Farah, who was staring open-mouthed at the clothes in her arms. “Farah?” he asked.

She looked up sharply. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry, I’ll just--” She took a couple of steps backward, her eyes briefly darting in Tina’s direction before she turned on her heel and followed Todd out of the room without another word.

Tina watched them go, her cheeks pink. “Well, I’ll let you get changed,” she said after a moment. “I’m gonna go after those two hotties, make sure they don’t get up to anything crazy!” 

With a strained chuckle, she dashed out of the room, closing the door behind her. 

That just left Dirk and the box.

Within two seconds, its entire contents were on the floor, and Dirk was rifling through the mess, looking for his perfect outfit. Right off the bat, many of the pieces looked like they wouldn't fit, so he threw them over his shoulder into a discard pile. Next to go was anything that didn't mesh with his personal style (as much as he respected their place in fashion history, he wouldn't be caught dead in parachute pants). This left him with a smaller but much more tantalizing selection of clothing. Sorting through this was difficult and he had to make some heartbreaking decisions, but in the end he went with a pair of red corduroy bell bottoms, a zig-zag patterned, thickly rib-knit polyester shirt with a plunging v-neck and the most oversized collar he’d ever seen, and la pièce de résistance: a corduroy jacket in the loveliest shade of deep purple.

He finished the look off with some purple socks and an exquisite pair of chestnut-colored suede shoes, and turned to admire his profile in the mirror. He looked amazing. He _felt_ amazing. More like himself than he had in ages. This outfit was compensation for two months spent in a drab gray jumpsuit.

“Hmm,” he said. “Best. Case. Ever.”

He turned to leave, excited about showing off his new togs, but he stopped short when he saw the chaos he'd created. It looked like a time-traveling tornado had torn through from the 70s. He knelt down and haphazardly stuffed everything back in the box as quickly as he could, cursing such useless concepts as etiquette and… something. Then, strutting confidently over to the door, he flung it open and promptly crashed into Todd.

“Whoops!” he exclaimed, as Todd stammered a simultaneous apology. “Sorry, I...”

He immediately trailed off as he caught sight of the outfit Todd had changed into. He was dressed like a forest ranger, and in one magical instant, Dirk understood every joke he'd ever heard at college about men in uniform. He swept his gaze down Todd’s body, taking in the mint green shirt that somehow made his eyes appear even bluer, the sleeves rolled up almost to his elbows, those smart black dress pants, and to top it off, the same dirty red trainers he’d been wearing before, an unmistakable piece of Todd amidst this newfound dapperness.

When he looked back up at Todd’s face, he caught those wide blue eyes snapping up to meet his. 

“That outfit, it’s, uh,” Todd began, then swallowed. “It’s very you.”

“Thanks, I’m rather pleased with it,” Dirk said, a weak smile flickering over his face. He gestured at Todd’s uniform. “And this is, erm… it’s quite the improvement.”

“Yeah, I… Yeah.”

They both stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, Todd pointed over Dirk’s shoulder and said, “I was just heading this way.”

“Oh, by all means,” Dirk said, stepping to the side.

The minute Todd passed him, Dirk ducked around the corner and collapsed heavily against the wall, banging his head against it a couple of times. The universe was toying with him, he knew it. _Here_ , it was saying, _feast your eyes on this inconceivably dishy man whose life you’ve ruined. Well, joke’s on you, because you can’t get too close to him, lest you ruin his life even more! Not that he’d be interested in you in the first place._

“Hey, Dirk!”

He stuck one foot into the hall and peeked cautiously around the corner. Todd was standing just past the doorway to the kitchen, staring at him expectantly. 

“We’ve got a dead body in a tree in here, and they’re letting us poke it!” he said. “Do you wanna take a look?”

Dirk made a face. “Erm…”

“This is like the most Dirk-type deal I’ve ever seen!” Todd enthused, all big eyes and gap-toothed grin.

“I think I’m okay out here for now, thank you, Todd,” Dirk declined politely. “You all seem to have the tree… man under control, so.” He bit his lower lip and shot them a half-hearted smile as he popped out of sight around the corner.

“Maybe he’s squeamish?” he heard Hobbs suggest.

“He’s not,” Todd responded.

Dirk briefly thrust a thumbs-up into the hallway to assuage their concerns, and then leaned back against the wall. He knew from experience that the closer he got to this case, the more twisted and tangled it would become, and more than anything, he needed it to be simple. In his perfect world, they’d figure out this business with the car and the tree, which would lead them to the boy, who would lead them to Amanda, and the mystery would be open and shut before anyone got so much as a papercut. 

That was when Farah’s voice carried over from the kitchen. “He was already dead when whatever put him in the tree… put him there,” she stated. Dirk peeked around the corner again, panic rising in his chest as she concluded, “This was a murder.”

Dirk face-planted on the wall. That couldn’t be right. Murders were complicated and messy. Murders were most definitely _not_ open and shut. Murders meant murder _ers_ , and murder _ers_ usually meant _other murders_ , which was just about the worst thing he could imagine. 

He waited for his heart to slow to a normal rate, and then hesitantly made his way into the kitchen, where Todd was talking about tree weapons or some such ridiculous thing.

“Maybe,” he began, getting everyone’s attention, “it was an accident.”

“An accident?” Todd sounded surprised.

“Yeah! Like…” _Come on, come on, what makes sense?_ “They had some kind of argument, and he got angry...” _Good start. Realistic._ “And went… inside the tree.” _That's less good._ “And then she flew her new car off, up into the… sky…” _Shit, lost it._

“What is going on with you?” Todd asked suspiciously.

“Nothing. Fine-ness,” Dirk replied, doing a smooth about-face and walking swiftly out of the room.

He returned to his position around the corner and slumped back against the wall. Right, that embarrassing display had convinced no one, least of all himself. Time to regroup. Were there any other possibilities that didn’t involve murder? Suicide, perhaps? A practical joke gone wrong? A science experiment… gone wrong? Surely he could run with one of those. He returned to the kitchen to deliver his new theory, but found it deserted. Confused, he doubled back down the hall, and as he passed the doorway to the lobby, he saw that everyone had moved behind the front desk.

“Okay, actually,” he began, rushing towards them eagerly, “what if it were more of a case of…”

He trailed off, realizing that Todd, Farah, Hobbs and Tina were all standing stock still, staring dumbstruck at something on the other side of the desk. He looked over his shoulder, and his heart stopped.

The hair and the clothes were different, but the dirt and the blood spoke volumes. It was _her_. The madwoman who’d tried to kill him. Twice. And inadvertently saved all their lives, but it was the “trying to kill him” bit that really stood out.

“Hi, Dirk,” she said, almost demurely.

Dirk shrieked, spinning around with the intention of fleeing the scene and not having any more attempts made on his life.

To be fair, it would’ve gone a lot better had there not been a giant wooden post in his way.

\---

For the second time in as many days, Todd was taking a ride in the back of a police vehicle. This time, however, it wasn't because he'd been arrested; it was because Hobbs was driving and Dirk had called shotgun. Todd looked out the window at the peaceful Bergsberg scenery, letting the excited jabbering from the front seat wash over him, thanking his lucky stars that Hobbs was either bored, trusting or stupid enough to treat them as equals on this case. 

They eventually pulled up at the typical middle-class suburban dwelling of a woman named Suzie Boreton, who had apparently assaulted Bart and was somehow connected to the Cardenases. Hobbs and Dirk stepped out of the car and shut their doors in near unison.

“Come on out,” Hobbs said, graciously opening the back car door for Todd, who scurried out and closed it behind him.

“Hey, Hobbs, I meant to say,” he said bashfully, falling into step beside the sheriff. “I really appreciate the ‘not turning us in and letting us come along’ thing.”

“Oh, yeah, well, you know, things get pretty slow around here,” Hobbs said breezily as they climbed the steps to the house. Boredom it was. “So, uh, let me ask you,” he continued, tossing a quick glance over his shoulder at Dirk, “what, um, what’s your deal?”

Todd’s heart jumped into his throat. What was Hobbs picking up on? He hadn't been in earshot when Todd had seen Dirk's outfit, had he? Or maybe Tina was getting some sort of vibe, and had relayed the information to him? Either way, Todd was not prepared for this. He needed to do some major damage control. “Deal?” he asked in a thin voice. 

“I mean, does he, uh…”

“We're just friends,” Todd said hurriedly.

Hobbs furrowed his brow. “Oh. I was more asking about your business arrangement, but, uh… I s’pose that's good to know, too.”

Todd stopped in his tracks at the Boreton’s front door. He'd misinterpreted. He needed damage control _for_ his damage control. 

Then Hobbs’ words caught up with him. _Good to know?_ What the fuck was that supposed to mean? A barb of jealousy pierced him, sharp and unpleasant. “Why, do you…?”

Hobbs’ eyebrows nearly flew off his face. “Who, me?” he asked incredulously. “Oh, no, heck no! I mean, he's a sweet fella and all, but I'm, uh, not that way inclined.”

Todd breathed a sigh of relief, and then, realizing how obvious he was being, covered it up with a cough. Hobbs looked at him curiously.

“Why, are _you_ \--?”

“No, no, man, I'm cool,” Todd shrugged. “I was just wondering.”

“Because it's no trouble if you are,” Hobbs went on. “Matter of fact, Tina’s partial to both, and I'm not one to judge.” He chuckled. “In fact, if the way she's been looking at your friend Farah is anything to go by--”

“You know what, it's fine,” Todd interrupted. “We can just… focus on the case, probably.”

“Right you are,” Hobbs said with a nod before turning and rapping his knuckles on the front door. A few moments passed with no response. He knocked again. Still nothing. “Huh. That’s odd.”

“What?” Todd asked.

“Well, if nobody’s home, why isn’t the dog barking?” Hobbs wondered. “Yeah, the dog should be barking its head off right now. Dang thing’s always in a tantrum.”

Todd was opening his mouth to speak when a deafening gunshot rang out from somewhere close by. Adrenaline rushed through his system. He whipped around to see where the noise had come from. And realized that one member of their party was missing.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Dirk.”

He took off as fast as he could, his legs carrying him down the stairs and around the side of the house. When he reached the backyard, the first thing he saw was what looked like a broken, overturned doghouse on the grass. Sticking over the top of it were Dirk’s shoes. 

“Dirk!” he yelled, tearing over to him and dropping to his knees. 

Dirk was lying on a pile of wood fragments next to a shotgun, his feet elevated high above his head, heels hooked over the upended base of the doghouse. He was breathing heavily, his eyes huge and frantic.

“Todd,” he said, voice quivering. He brought his feet to the ground and struggled to sit up, but Todd pushed him back down.

“Don't move,” he said, running his hands all over Dirk's body to check for wounds. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Todd, stop, I'm fine,” Dirk assured him, shoving his hands away and sitting up. “A bit shaken, perhaps, but otherwise unharmed. Not sure I can say the same for him, though.”

Todd followed Dirk's gaze a few feet away to where a giant, gruff-looking man was lying motionless on the grass, Hobbs crouching over him to inspect his body.

“Who is that?” Todd asked.

“Bob Boreton, Suzie’s husband,” Hobbs replied. “Bullet grazed the side of his head, took a chunk outta his ear. There’s, uh, there’s also a mark on his forehead that looks consistent with the muzzle of that shotgun beside you.” He eyed first the gun lying on the grass, and then Dirk, mistrust flickering across his face for the briefest of moments. “How'd this happen, Dirk?”

Dirk flinched. “It was an accident. He attacked me.”

Hobbs chewed on this. “Well, he’s out cold, but he’ll live. I'll get your statement when we're back at the station. Meantime, I'm gonna get him to a hospital. I'll call Tina on my way, get her to swing by and pick you two up.” Hobbs positioned himself at Bob’s head and looped his arms under his armpits. “Todd, would you mind grabbing his legs?”

Todd stared wordlessly at Hobbs, and then at Bob's enormous, limp body. 

“Erm, maybe I should do that,” Dirk piped up, scrambling to his feet.

Todd leapt to his feet as well, putting a hand on Dirk’s chest to stop him. “Dirk, no, you just broke a doghouse with your body. You’re not carrying that guy.”

“Honestly, Todd, Hobbs and I will manage,” Dirk insisted, trying to push past him. “You’re much too scrawny.”

“And you’re much too concussed,” Todd shot back, standing his ground. “Let me do it.”

“Todd, I’m fine, I--”

“Dirk.”

“But what if you--?”

“ _Dirk_.”

With a defeated huff of breath, Dirk stood down, allowing Todd to shuffle over to the other end of Bob Boreton’s inert frame and wrap his arms around his legs.

On the count of three, he and Hobbs hefted Bob off the ground, and Todd began to experience something he could only describe as instantaneous and resounding regret. But it was too late to back out now, and there was no way he was passing this task off to someone who’d just narrowly avoided death, so he gritted his teeth and staggered out of the backyard with Hobbs, Dirk nervously hovering over his shoulder the entire time.

They crammed Bob into the back of the car and leaned him against the window with his blue button-up against his wound. Hobbs hopped into the driver’s seat and told them to sit tight until Tina arrived. As he did a three-point turn out of the driveway, they watched as Bob listed to the right and dropped out of sight beneath the rear windshield. Todd sighed.

“Did he just--?”

“Yeah.”

Dirk hummed. “Gravity will be on his side.”

“I wish gravity had been on my side a minute ago,” Todd complained. “He was so heavy I think my fingers are permanently curled.”

“I _told_ you to let me do it!” Dirk said indignantly.

“Yeah, that wasn’t gonna happen.”

Dirk’s mouth twisted. “Well, at least you didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?” Todd asked, frowning.

Dirk shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Here, let me…”

He reached out and took Todd’s hands in his. The instant their skin touched, Todd’s breath hitched a little. He watched in a sort of open-mouthed trance as Dirk began smoothing out his clawed hands, brows knit with intent. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his hands velvety soft. Todd’s mouth went a bit dry imagining where else he might like to feel that soft touch. 

When Dirk had successfully worked Todd’s fingers back to their original position, his gaze flicked up and their eyes met for a few scalding moments. Todd was the one to pull away first.

“That feels a lot better, thanks,” he said, scrutinizing a stick that lay near Dirk’s foot.

“Good,” Dirk said, sounding relieved. “I’m glad that was alright.”

Todd was suddenly overcome with a powerful urge to either wrap his arms tightly around Dirk’s neck, or to throw himself at the nearest tree and climb it as high as he could. He did neither of these things, instead turning around and sitting on the Boreton’s front steps. After a moment, Dirk joined him.

“Do you suppose we’ll be here for a while?” he asked.

\---

“You’re sad!” Tina blurted out.

Farah looked up from Hector Cardenas’ skeleton. “What?” 

“Is it about you and Todd?”

“No!” Farah exclaimed. “We’re just friends.”

“You and Dirk?” 

Farah raised a derisive eyebrow.

“Oh, are _they_ together?” Tina asked, eyes growing in recognition. “Cause I was getting that vibe, not strongly, but I could see how someone would, like…”

“No, Todd isn’t…” Farah hesitated. Isn’t _what_? She realized she couldn’t say for sure. After all, one errant make-out session does not a heterosexual make. She should know that better than anyone. “Or, rather, Dirk-- I don’t think he--” She cut herself off, realizing she had no knowledge about this, either. “You know, actually, I don’t know what Dirk is.” Why was her first impulse to assume? It’s not like Dirk had ever mentioned a past relationship. And, come to think of it, he was pretty flamboyant. Not that that meant anything necessarily, she didn’t want to stereotype, and-- Wait, had she been missing some obvious signs? Signs that Tina, of all people, was picking up on? Was there actually something between Dirk and Todd, and she just _hadn’t noticed_? What kind of sub-par observational skills--

“Hey, man, it’s cool,” Tina said, eyes wide, holding her hands up to diffuse whatever tension she was clearly _observing_ on Farah’s face. “I’m bi. No judgment here. I just thought maybe that’s why you’re sad.”

“I’m not sad,” Farah protested, crossing her arms.

Tina stood up, an indulgent smirk on her face as she swaggered over to Farah. “I’m... sort of an empath,” she said, her words saturated with false modesty. “I think. Truth is, I’m coming out of a ten to… fifteen-year dark period where I experimented with some pretty heavy drugs.” She let out an awkward chuckle and Farah stared at her, stuck in that confusing place somewhere between uncomfortable and intrigued. 

Thankfully, at that moment, the phone rang. Tina turned on her heel, holding up a finger as she went to answer it. Farah took this opportunity to recap the past forty seconds of her life, as there was a lot to unpack. And that’s when one specific detail sunk in.

Tina was bi.

Farah blinked. Okay, that was good to know. Not that it mattered, not that it changed anything, not that it was necessarily going to come up again in any way, shape or form, but it was an… informative fact that she could file away in the Tina section of her brain. Which wasn’t a particularly large or important section, her brain was basically just a filing cabinet with sections for everything and everyone. State laws, martial arts, middle school crushes… She wasn’t _blushing_. She _wasn’t_ blushing. _She_ wasn’t blushing.

Tina looked up at Farah, holding the receiver in front of her. “Weird,” she said.

“Who was that?” Farah asked, grateful for the distraction.

Tina hung up the phone. “I think,” she said, whipping her backwards cap off as she walked over to Farah, “that was Scott Boreton, and I think he just reported a hit-and-run. Wanna go check it out?” She snugly secured her cap frontwards over her head with an eager smile.

“I… Uh…”

Just then, the phone rang again. Tina groaned and spun around, stomping over to go pick it up.

“Scott?” she answered. “Oh, Hobbs, it’s you! ...No, I’m pretty sure Scott Boreton just called to report a hit-and-run. Farah and I are about to go check it out. ...Hobbs, we got a call, what am I supposed to-- Hold up, why’re _you_ calling? ...Holy crap on a cracker! That’s-- ...Wait, you want us to pick them up? Well, then we’ll have to leave Bart alone anyway!” Here, she glanced surreptitiously at Farah before turning her back and lowering her voice. “Yeah, but I want her to come. Besides, she’s a criminal, too. Kind of. So that’d be like leaving a criminal behind to watch over another criminal, and-- Okay, okay, I’m on my way, jeez! What are you, my dad?” She hung up the phone.

“What’s going on?” Farah asked.

Tina turned around and huffed. “Dirk accidentally shot Bob Boreton in the head in self-defense and Hobbs is on the way to the hospital with him right now, which means we’ve gotta go pick up Dirk and Todd at the Boreton house, only I think we should swing by the hit-and-run scene first because it’s on the way, but we’re gonna have to be quick because we’re not supposed to leave our prisoner alone.” She grinned and gave Farah a swift pat on the shoulder before racing out the door. “Come on, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Farah hesitated for a moment. “How do you _accidentally_ shoot someone in self-defense?” she called after her.

\---

Dirk’s hair ruffled in the breeze as he gazed out at the horizon. He still felt very much like a man who had recently been picked up by the throat and smashed into a canine habitat, but the full-body throbbing wasn’t as intensely painful as it had been a few moments ago. Moments? Minutes? Hours?

Admittedly, Dirk was not the best at tracking the passage of time, but he was pretty sure he’d been sitting on the steps beside Todd for… well, for quite a while. Long enough that he’d imagined no less than twelve different scenarios in which the Zombie Bob scenario had gone horribly wrong (or horribly wrong _er_ ). Most of these scenarios featured Todd: Todd getting his neck snapped, Todd having a pararibulitis attack (which Dirk had yet to witness, but was looking forward to like a bullet to the head), Todd receiving a bullet to the head. Dirk shivered and readjusted his leg just enough that their knees brushed. It was a small comfort, though it did nothing to assuage the tsunami in his gut. What could _possibly_ be taking Tina and Farah so long?

Todd cleared his throat, a sudden spike in the flatline of sound. “So are you gonna tell me what happened back there?” 

Dirk absent-mindedly gripped the back of his neck. “You mean… specifically?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm,” Dirk considered. “Well, you and Hobbs were walking up to the front door, but I had a feeling I should go around back, so--”

“Wait,” Todd interrupted, “did you hear anything Hobbs and I were saying?” 

Dirk frowned. “Don’t think so. Why?”

“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. Go on.”

Dirk gave him a miffed look, but continued. “Anyway, Bob was standing in front of his deck, just… staring at it, and I said, ‘Excuse me, hello, sorry to interrupt your whatever this is, but--’”

“Dirk…”

“Well, you said you wanted specifics,” Dirk said crossly.

“About your fight, not your… pleasantries, or whatever.”

Dirk huffed. “Fine. After a moment of pleasantries, as you so eloquently put it, he turned around to look at me, and to say he didn’t quite resemble the picture of human health would be an understatement. I asked him if he was alright, and he just started advancing on me. I tried explaining why I was there, but he kept lumbering closer and closer, and his eyes were all red and starey. Before I could do anything, he grabbed me by the neck and effectively… broke the doghouse using my body. Also, I’m fairly certain he was growling.” Dirk inhaled sharply and braced his arms on the step he was sitting on. “Wait, I think I may have solved it. Perhaps this is another Lydia Spring situation, and Bob Boreton is actually a dog in a big, scary man’s body. What if that was _his_ doghouse, and-- and he’s the boy we’re looking for? As in…” He began to lose steam. “As in, ‘good boy’?”

“No.”

“Right.” He put his hands in his lap. “So. That’s when Bob went to get his shotgun. He came over and pointed it right at me, and I couldn’t move, Todd. If the gun hadn’t jammed, he would’ve blown my head clean off.”

Todd stared at him with horrified eyes. “The gun jammed?” he asked.

“Well, at first,” Dirk elaborated. “But then he turned it around to see what was wrong, so I kicked it into his forehead as hard as I could and knocked him out. I suppose he must have accidentally pulled the trigger, because it went off as he was collapsing.”

“And blew his ear off.”

Dirk squirmed uncomfortably. “Just a chunk.”

They sat in silence for a few more moments. Then, Todd said, “You know it’s not your fault, right? You were just protecting yourself.”

“I think the universe was protecting me,” Dirk pointed out.

“I should’ve been there,” Todd mumbled.

Dirk’s blood ran cold. “No,” he said, a little too loudly. Todd looked up at him, startled. Dirk turned to survey the mountain range in the distance, once again grabbing the back of his neck and massaging the tender muscles there. He could feel Todd’s eyes burning into him.

“Dirk, are you okay?” he asked.

At that moment, they heard a low rumble approaching. It grew increasingly louder until Tina’s car roared into the driveway and ground to a sudden halt. Farah was in the passenger seat and the tight clench of her jaw was visible all the way from the steps.

Tina rolled down her window and stuck her head out. “Hey, hope you don’t mind sharing the back seat!” she chirped.

“Why would we mind?” Todd said, getting up and walking over to the car. “There’s more than enough-- Oh, I get it.”

Dirk went over to see what all the fuss was about, peering through the left rear window over Todd’s shoulder. 

There, lolling unconscious against the door, was a man. This man was incredibly handsome, with a chiseled face, and hair that was an inexplicable shade of bubblegum pink. He wore clothes that Dirk had only ever seen in picture books, on TV, and that one time back in England when a case had led him right into the middle of a medieval festival. Dirk stared warily at him.

“Um,” he said, “yes, who’s this?”

“No idea!” Tina said with a grin. 

“Right, and why’s he here?”

“We found him in a junkyard at the end of a trail of blood while investigating a hit-and-run that we think was reported by Suzie Boreton’s son, Scott,” Farah explained. “He threatened us, so we took action.”

Todd turned to Dirk. “This has gotta be connected, right?”

“Of course it is, Todd,” Dirk replied, scowling at the man inside the car. “Connected to the universe’s sparkling record of torturing me with the color pink.”

“You should’ve seen the way Farah knocked him out,” Tina gushed, gazing at Farah with starry eyes. 

“Yes, it seems like unconsciousness is a common theme today,” Dirk said sardonically.

Todd shook his head and walked away, letting himself into the car from the other side.

“He had this huge pair of scissors, ginormous like you wouldn’t believe,” Tina went on, as Dirk followed Todd into the back seat, “and he took me down with a yo-yo, a freakin’ _yo-yo_ , man, it was crazy! And he was doing all these flips everywhere, but Farah elbowed him right in the face, and he just went _down_.”

“That explains why you took ages to get here,” Dirk said under his breath as he shut the car door, ignoring the sharpness with which Todd’s head snapped towards him. 

As soon as they were both safely fastened in the back seat, Tina gunned it out of the driveway, causing the medieval man to lurch dangerously to the right before collapsing across Dirk and Todd, his head landing square in Dirk’s lap. 

Dirk stared down at the pink locks splayed out over his thighs and sighed laboriously. He was beginning to think gravity wasn’t on his side either.

\--- 

Todd had reached the point where he wasn’t really surprised by anything that happened to him anymore. It wasn’t like he had woken up that morning knowing that he’d soon be sitting in a car propping up a comatose pink-haired man, but it also didn’t feel like that much of a stretch.

The most unusual part of the day was actually Dirk’s attitude. He’d been staring moodily out the window for the entire car ride, not meeting anyone’s eyes or saying a word. He’d barely even moved, aside from one distracting moment when he’d taken off his purple corduroy jacket. Todd couldn’t stop glancing at him every few seconds, partly because he was amazed that that godawful polyester shirt worked as well as it did on him, but mostly out of a fond hope that looking at Dirk for long enough would somehow unlock what was going on in his head. He’d never seen him act like this before. Granted, he’d spent less than two weeks with him by this point, but he could still tell something was off.

When they arrived at the station, Hobbs was waiting for them outside. Tina leapt out to greet him and give him a quick rundown before dashing inside to unlock a cell for their new prisoner, leaving Hobbs and Farah to get Flamingo Hair into the station. Todd walked ahead of them, opening the front door and occasionally shifting a piece of furniture out of their way to be helpful. Dirk, meanwhile, remained on the fringe. He threw his jacket on the back of a chair and leaned gloomily against the wall, looking as though he had gotten lost in his own head and didn’t like what he found there. 

While Hobbs and Farah carried Cotton Candy Head through to the jail, Todd took advantage of Dirk’s reluctance to get near Bart and hung back with him in the hallway.

“Hey,” he said, taking a step towards Dirk, who gave a slight jump and flinched back. “You’ve been acting weird. Even for you.”

Dirk rolled his eyes. “Well, I was just attacked by a zombie and thrown through a doghouse, Todd, so--”

“No, you were being weird before that,” Todd maintained, blocking Dirk’s path as he tried to get around him. “It’s like you want this case to be over as soon as possible. I thought you were excited about it.”

“I am!” Dirk said in a high-pitched voice. “Or-- Yeah, I-I was, but…” He shook his head with a forced smile, Todd staring at him searchingly. Suddenly, all pretense dropped, and Dirk’s face grew dark as he looked Todd directly in the eyes. “Why do you have pararibulitis, Todd?” he asked, his voice dropping about two octaves. 

Todd recoiled at the seriousness of Dirk’s tone. “Why?” he repeated.

Dirk pressed his lips together tightly and leaned right into Todd’s space. “ _Exactly_ ,” he said in a fierce whisper. He let his words sink in for a moment, and then pushed past him.

Todd turned over his shoulder and watched him stalk off, utterly confused. He was debating whether or not he should go after him when he heard Hobbs call his name. Taking a calming breath, he wandered down the hall to the jail, where the new prisoner was stretched out on Dirk’s old cot. Hobbs, Tina and Farah were standing in a circle discussing something, and Bart was pressed up against the bars of her cell, staring raptly at the new arrival.

“Hey,” Hobbs said when Todd came in. “Where’d Dirk go?” 

Todd blinked at Hobbs. His head was still spinning. “He went off. I think he wanted to be alone for a while.”

“Ah, fair enough, I’ll get his statement when he’s ready,” Hobbs said. “So here’s the thing. Your cell’s currently being occupied by… well, by this fella here, so how’s about you and Dirk crash at my place until further notice?”

“Oh,” Todd said. “That’s really generous of you, thanks.”

“Dirk won’t mind, will he?”

“I, uh… I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Todd said, at a loss. “Hey, how’s Bob?”

“Oh, he’s got some hearing damage, but he’s gonna be okay,” Hobbs said with a comforting wave of his hand. “Only thing is, nobody could reach his wife or his son to tell ‘em he’d been injured. I left some messages, but that’s the best I could do. I just hope there’s someone there when the poor guy wakes up.”

“Huh,” Todd said vaguely. After a pause, he added, “So what do we do now?”

“Well, I guess now we wait for _this_ guy to wake up,” Hobbs replied.

“Right,” Todd said. He crossed his arms, leaned against the wall, and waited. 

_Why do you have pararibulitis, Todd?_ What the hell had Dirk meant by that? Was it supposed to be some sort of explanation for his behavior? In the span of a day, he’d gone from enthusiastic to apathetic to downright confrontational, managing to hit a bizarre slew of moods in between. What did any of that have to do with Todd's disease? He slid down the wall into a sitting position and waited some more.

Why _did_ he have pararibulitis? Was it karma? Genetics? One too many electric shocks? Whatever the reason, he knew that he deserved it. That if he had an excruciating attack every day for the rest of his life, it wouldn't make up for the hurt he'd caused to the people he cared about. The only way he could make things right was to do better. Solve this case. Find his sister. Help his best friend.

By sunset, the unconscious man still hadn't moved a muscle, and Todd was growing tired of waiting. He didn't want to be sitting here asking himself questions he couldn't answer. He wanted to be sitting with someone who was just as clueless as he was.

“I’m gonna go check on Dirk,” he said, standing up and walking out before anyone could respond.

He checked evidence lock-up, the kitchen and the bathroom, eventually finding him in the lobby, slumped dejectedly against a filing cabinet. His chin rested on the metal surface, eyes downcast. Todd approached him slowly.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he said.

Dirk propped his chin on his arm and looked at him dubiously. 

“Okay,” Todd continued, “I’ll start. Why did you ask me why I had pararibulitis?”

Dirk’s eyes darted away in search of the right words. “Because…” He stood up a little straighter and heaved a sigh. “When I was in Blackwing, I wanted to get out so badly. I had this fantasy that I would… escape, and just go _right_ back to you and Farah, and we would start the detective agency, and it would be brilliant.” His eyes began to sparkle as he spoke. He sounded more like himself than he had all day, and Todd felt a half-smile spread over his face as he listened to him. “We would solve mysteries and help people, and it would all be, somehow… I don’t know. Better. Calmer.” Their eyes met, smiles fading as reality set in. “But nothing’s better. Nothing’s calmer. It all just _is_. And always will be.” He tapped absentmindedly on the filing cabinet.

Todd shook his head slightly as he tried to organize his thoughts into a sentence. “You’re not a pawn, Dirk,” he said, taking a couple of steps forward. “It’s not, like… predestined. Fate and chance don’t cancel each other out.”

Dirk narrowed his eyes, giving Todd an almost challenging look as he continued tapping. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do,” Todd realized. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen you fail, but I’ve also seen you win. You can’t let the universe push you around. That’s how you end up getting in gunfights and slammed through doghouses. You have to make bigger choices.”

These words seemed to hit Dirk in a new way, and he stood there, blinking dumbfoundedly. At first, Todd thought he might have said the perfect combination of words to rouse him from his funk, but then something strange happened. With the suddenness and the severity of an eclipse, an unprecedented expression crossed over Dirk's face. Todd had no idea how to describe it; he just watched, transfixed, as Dirk closed the distance between them with one final step. His gaze flicked down to Todd's mouth, and setting his jaw determinedly, he began to lean in. Todd, for some stupid fucking reason that was probably caused by a combination of shock and nerves, jerked backwards. This caused Dirk to stop in his tracks, and they stared tensely at one another for a good few seconds, neither of them daring to move. Finally, Dirk’s eyes fell away, and he blushed furiously.

“Sorry, I--”

But he didn’t have a chance to say what he was sorry for, because at that moment, Todd grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him backwards against the filing cabinet. Dirk squeaked, his eyes widening further than Todd had ever seen them. Then, gathering every ounce of courage he had, Todd rose onto his toes and captured Dirk’s lips beneath his. 

It took about a millisecond for Dirk to melt into him with a soft sigh. He lifted his arms to grip Todd tightly around the waist, and Todd groaned against his mouth, slipping his hands into Dirk’s hair. 

And there it was. The spark that had been missing when he’d made out with Farah all those weeks ago. He felt it ignite deep within him, revelled in the way it spread through his body as he and Dirk kissed. God, this was happening. This was actually happening, and it was even better than he’d imagined. He was finally pressed against that long, lean body that had been distracting him for days now, finally tasting those sweet, plush lips, finally feeling those long, nimble fingers desperately grabbing hold of him, not because they were in danger, but because Dirk _wanted_ him. It felt so good, so overwhelmingly good that Todd didn’t think he could take it for much longer. 

He pulled back for air, looking up into Dirk’s blue eyes, which were now dark and heavy with desire. Seeing such a primal look on his face sent about three consecutive shots of adrenaline through Todd’s system, and he let out a shuddering breath. He allowed his eyes to drift further down, to Dirk’s jawline, to his throat, to all the skin that was on display thanks to the irresistibly low v-neck on that horrible, wonderful shirt of his. Before he could think, he was darting in to press kisses along Dirk’s collarbone, dragging his tongue along it, nipping at the flesh above his clavicle.

Dirk gasped, letting his head fall back and fisting his hands in Todd’s shirt. “ _Todd_ ,” he breathed.

This was the moment that Tina was lucky enough to walk in on. “Yo-- _WHOA_!” she yelled.

Todd shot away from Dirk as if he’d been electrocuted, a feeling he was quite familiar with. Dirk, meanwhile, made a futile attempt to adjust his clothes and smooth down his hair.

“Tina, i-it’s, er--” he stammered. “It’s not what it… Okay, it’s exactly what it looks like.”

Todd tilted his head at him in an ‘Are you serious?’ kind of way.

“I _knew_ you two were a thing!” Tina said triumphantly, pounding her fist into her palm. “Farah said y’all were just friends, but I was picking up on a totally different vibe.”

“That’s not--” Todd tried. “We’ve never--”

“Uh huh,” Tina said slyly, raising her eyebrows. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with ol’ Triple T. Anyway, I came in to tell you Pink Hair was awake, but I can come back in a few minutes if you need me to…”

“That won’t be necessary, thanks, Tina,” Dirk said hurriedly. “We’ll be right out.”

“Okay, lovebirds,” Tina said, giving the doorframe a couple sharp slaps as she spun out of the room. “Super hot, by the way!”

Todd waited about ten seconds before looking up at Dirk, who was pointedly avoiding his eyes.

“Should we just--?” Todd asked, pointing in the direction Tina had just gone.

“Yes, let’s,” Dirk said. 

They both started out the door at the same time, and then stopped, waiting for the other to proceed. Todd ended up doing some contrived ‘after you’ gesture that he’d never done before in his life, and Dirk, looking perplexed, curtsied and walked out of the room. Todd buried his face in his hands with a groan. Things had just gotten a lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! House Within a House is just undergoing some last-minute tweaks, and then it'll be up. Shit's about to get wild, my friends.


	5. The House Within the House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this on Sunday morning along with the rest of the fic, but I just wasn't satisfied with the last scene yet, so I spent a couple of days doing some tweaks. I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it-- it's a real doozy! 
> 
> Not sure when the next chapter will be up, as I have auditions and stuff coming up in the next couple of weeks, but please hit that subscribe button if you don't wanna miss an update! And as always, I live for the comments and kudos, so knock yourselves out. <3

Dirk once read in a magazine that one's home is a glimpse into one's psyche. That you can learn everything you need to know about a person by walking through their front door and taking a cursory glance around. Dirk wasn't as observant as all that, but he often found this concept to be true in its most simplistic sense. Todd's apartment at the Ridgely: a boring, depressing mess. Patrick Spring's mansion: unnecessarily complicated. His own cell at Blackwing: cold and empty.

As he stepped into Hobbs’ place, he saw that it was no exception: like its owner, it was simple, rustic, and a bit cluttered. The living room had tiled ceilings like one might find in a school or a doctor’s office, and the white-paneled walls didn’t have much in the way of decoration besides a dart board and some pictures (it seemed like Hobbs was very into fishing). The furniture, which included a red vinyl couch, a green faux leather ottoman, and a five-head copper floor lamp, all seemed like it had been bought from the same decades-old catalogue. Dirk adored everything about it.

“You have a lovely home, Sheriff,” he said, taking off his jacket and laying it on top of the ottoman.

“Oh, well,” Hobbs said humbly. “It's not much, but it's where Mustard and I rest our heads. Ooh, speaking of which, I hope you're not allergic to cats!” 

Todd, who had wandered over to check out Hobbs’ CD collection, let out a snort. Dirk wanted to catch his eye, maybe make some clever quip about sharks, but he was nervous about what he might find written on his face. He didn't know what to make of the moment they'd shared earlier, and he wasn't prepared for Todd to tell him it was a mistake or a misunderstanding or any other soul-crushing word that began with ‘mis’. So he kept his gaze fixed on Hobbs, and with a feeble smile, said, “Not to worry, I actually think I'm whatever the _opposite_ of allergic is. I tend to attract a lot of feline energy into my orbit.”

“Dirk's basically the cat whisperer,” Todd clarified.

“You don't say!” Hobbs grinned.

Dirk attempted a modest shrug. Then, right on cue, a chubby orange tabby came trotting towards him from the kitchen. She weaved around his legs for a moment before flopping at his feet with a plaintive meow.

“Awww, sweet thing,” Dirk cooed, kneeling down to stroke her belly.

“Whoa, now, watch out there, Dirk,” Hobbs warned. “Mustard isn't a fan of tummy rubs--” 

She cut him off with a rumbling purr.

“Huh,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “She never lets me do that.”

“Yep,” Todd said, wandering over. “Cat whisperer.”

Dirk removed his hand from Mustard’s luxurious belly tufts, gave her paw a cordial shake, and got back to his feet. “She's charming,” he told Hobbs.

“You should see her when I put on the Jay-Z!” Hobbs replied, opening his mouth as if he were about to elaborate, or even demonstrate, but after one look at Dirk and Todd’s worn faces, he put a cork in it. “Anyway. You two look tuckered out, so I'll let you turn in for the night. There's not a lot of room, but one of you can take the couch, and, uh… Well, now, why don't we…?”

He ducked into his bedroom and began noisily bustling about, leaving Dirk alone in the living room with Todd. Throat tight with words unspoken, Dirk made a show of looking about the place further. He was aimlessly fiddling with a walkie talkie holster when Hobbs returned carrying an armful of blankets, pillows and sleeping bags.

“One of you can get comfy here for the night,” he said, piling the bedding in the corner of the room. “I know it's not what you're used to, but hopefully it'll do the trick.”

“That's very kind of you,” Dirk said graciously.

“Don't mention it,” Hobbs said. “Now, there's a couple of barely-used toothbrushes in the bathroom cabinet, and towels are under the sink in case either of you are itching for a shower. If you get hungry, there's plenty of food in the kitchen. Don't be shy.” 

“Thank you, Sheriff,” Dirk said, patting him on the arm. “Sleep tight.”

“Don't let the bedbugs bite!” Hobbs replied jovially. “That's, uh, that's just a figure of speech, by the way. I don't have bedbugs.” 

“Okay,” Todd said blankly.

Hobbs gave each of their shoulders a friendly squeeze and headed off to bed.

And then there were two. 

Dirk stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, inches away from Todd, avoiding his eyes by pretending to deliberate between the couch and the “bed” in the corner. Maybe if he stayed like this for long enough, he’d blend in with the outdated furniture and Todd would forget he was here.

His hopes were dashed when Todd cleared his throat and took a step closer. 

“I, er…” Dirk stammered before he could speak. “I’m going to the loo.”

He rushed to the bathroom without a backward glance, closing the door firmly behind him. With any luck, he’d waste so much time in here that Todd would just give up and go to bed. He started arbitrarily rifling through the drawers, not paying much attention to their contents. There were towels under the sink, and Dirk momentarily toyed with the idea of a shower, but rather than go to bed with wet hair, he decided to help himself to some of Hobbs’ deodorant. Next, he examined the streaky cabinet mirror. He tried wiping it with his shirt sleeve, which made it twice as streaky, so he panicked and flung it open. Inside were the toothbrushes Hobbs had mentioned, as well as an unfortunately-flavored tube of black licorice toothpaste. He tried to brush his teeth for as long as he could, but the foul-tasting dentifrice made this particularly difficult, so he rinsed his mouth and left it at that.

When there was nothing left to do, he used the toilet, washed his hands for about two minutes, and then splashed water on his face for what felt like five, steeling himself for what awaited him outside. Finally, he positioned himself in front of the door, counted to ten, and swung it open to reveal Todd standing right in front of him. He clapped both hands over his mouth, practically jumping out of his skin.

“Dirk, what the hell?” Todd exclaimed. “It’s just me!”

“Sorry, you-- you startled me, that’s all.”

Todd made a face. “Is that… cedarwood?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dirk lied, slipping past Todd into the living room.

The instant he heard the bathroom door close, he collapsed onto the couch in a boneless heap, praying that Todd’s nightly ablutions would last long enough for his heart to stop its gymnastics. He listened attentively as Todd brushed his teeth, spat, gargled, spat again. When the shower turned on, Dirk heaved a sigh of relief, though his cheeks promptly went red as he accidentally pictured Todd _in_ the shower. Then his brain supplied him with an image of them both in the shower _together_ , and everything went haywire. 

“Should I take the floor?”

Dirk gasped and bolted upright. Todd was staring down at him with a towel hanging around his neck. His hair was wet and ruffled, his white t-shirt practically see-through on his still-damp body. Dirk blinked at him confusedly.

“Weren’t you just in there?” he asked, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“Uh, yeah. And now I’m out here.”

“But I heard you showering.”

“I’ve been out of the shower for, like, ten minutes.”

“Oh, I must have… zoned out.” He paused. “What was your question again?”

“Should I take the floor?” Todd repeated, over-pronouncing each syllable.

“Ah, no, don’t be silly, I’ll take it.”

“Are you sure? It won’t be as comfortable.”

“What, this?” Dirk asked, getting up from the couch to fling himself onto the blanket nest. “This mountain of softness? I’m quite happy sleeping here. I’d prefer it, in fact. You go ahead and sleep on your sweaty vinyl couch, Todd, because this luxury bed is taken. By me. So there.”

Todd sat heavily on the couch. “Whatever you say, Dirk,” he said tiredly.

“Here,” Dirk uttered, scrambling to offer Todd a pillow and a scratchy gray blanket. 

Todd took them with no protest. “Thanks.”

“Course,” Dirk replied softly. 

Todd reached over to the opposite side of the couch and turned off the lamp, obscuring them both in darkness. Dirk curled up facing the wall, feeling a little saner with the light out. 

He knew yet again that sleep would be out of his reach tonight. In fact, after the couple of days he’d had, it felt like the very concept of sleep had been tied to an anchor and dropped in the middle of the Pacific. As he lay there in the dark, his mind spun in circles, getting tighter and tighter with each thought.

Then Todd spoke into the stillness, and everything came to a dizzying halt. “So,” he said. “You're acting even weirder now.”

Dirk balled his fist into a blanket. He briefly wondered if he could pretend to be asleep already, but he had to acknowledge how far-fetched that was. “Finding out you're at the center of a mystical prophecy can do that to you,” he responded.

“You're just gonna pretend it's not because we kissed?”

Dirk's stomach did a little flip. He'd never heard Todd use that word before, and certainly not in reference to him. In a wooden voice, he said, “Well, yes, that also… happened.”

The silence that followed was punctuated by the distant sounds of Mustard’s food dish clanking in the kitchen. After a beat, Todd said, “Should we talk about it?”

Dirk expelled a steady stream of air from his nose, searching for literally any combination of words that would make sense in this situation. “I'm-- I don't--” 

“Oh,” Todd said, sounding contrite. “Was it… not what you wanted?”

“No, it was,” Dirk admitted reticently. “I’m just not sure it was what _you_ wanted.”

“Wait, did you miss the part where I shoved you against the cabinet?”

“Of course not, but you'd also recoiled in horror shortly before that, so pardon me for being a bit unclear on the situation.”

“Dirk…”

“It's quite alright, Todd, I understand,” Dirk said with an air of finality, tears pricking threateningly at his eyes. “You told me to make bigger choices. I misunderstood. Let's spare ourselves any further embarrassment and just forget anything happened.”

“That's not what I'm saying. I mean, yeah, when I told you to make bigger choices, I was talking about the case. I wasn’t expecting you to try and kiss me, but it wasn't… something I didn't want.”

“Your use of double negatives is very convincing,” Dirk said cynically, trying to quash the rising hope in his heart.

“For fuck’s sake,” Todd swore under his breath. “Look, it wasn't a pity kiss, okay? You didn't pressure me into anything. If I hadn't wanted to kiss you, I wouldn't have.”

Dirk loosened his grip on the blanket. “Oh,” he said sheepishly. 

“Anyway, it’s been a long day. You should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”

“I… don't think sleep is in the cards for me, to be honest, Todd, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He ran his fingers absentmindedly over a fleecy pillow. “I hope you sleep well, though.”

There was a pregnant pause as Todd processed this. “Have you not been sleeping?” 

Dirk feared he'd said too much. “Not as such, no,” he confessed.

“Is that why you’re being so weird and jumpy?” Todd went on, his concern palpable. “Dirk, when was the last time you had a good night's sleep?”

Dirk said nothing, partly because he didn't know, partly because he didn't want to admit to not knowing. 

“Is it, like, a Blackwing thing?” 

Dirk’s mouth twisted as he scoured his brain for something to say. He was painfully aware that the longer his wordlessness continued, the more dramatic this moment became, but his mind had gone utterly blank. Just when he thought his head might implode, Todd asked one final question. 

“What did they do to you?”

“Erm,” Dirk managed. “Not good things.” 

As his words hung heavy in the space between them, he was aware of two very distinct parts of himself battling for dominance: the part that hoped Todd would drop this subject and leave him alone with his thoughts, and the part that yearned to be solaced, to be understood. Before this internal battle reached its conclusion, however, Dirk heard the soft squeak of upholstery, closely followed by the telltale padding of feet on the floor. A moment later, the blanket nest sank beneath the weight of a second person. Dirk went completely rigid, all his senses going into overdrive as Todd's body perfectly enveloped his. He felt an arm wrap around his waist, fingers landing on his stomach like a whisper. All at once, he was very conscious of himself, the space he took up, the rhythm of his breath. With Todd against him, every twitch seemed like an earthquake, every micromovement suddenly gargantuan. 

Then the tip of Todd’s nose brushed the back of Dirk's neck, and a cascade of tingles flurried down his spine, instantly transporting him back to the station, to the exquisite rush of being shoved against that filing cabinet. Dirk had never experienced anything like that in his life. Until then, he hadn't known it was possible to feel such a surge of sensation, want and need tangled up in a confusing but intoxicating cocktail.

This moment wasn't infused with the same kind of desperation. Todd wasn't taking things any further; he was slowing things down, creating a quiet pocket of comfort for the two of them. Dirk took a deep breath, his muscles relaxing one by one as Todd’s warmth seeped into him like a salve.

“Is this okay?” Todd asked, his words tickling Dirk’s skin.

Not trusting himself to speak, Dirk put his hand on top of Todd's and laced their fingers together. The arm around his waist tightened in response, and Dirk let his eyes fall shut, settling into the feeling of Todd’s body. As much as he had going on in his head, it was now tempered by the breath on his neck, the knee tucked into the crook of his leg, the heart beating against his back. He still knew he wasn’t going to sleep tonight. But at least he wasn’t going to not sleep alone.

\---

In the morning, Todd was awakened by the absence of warmth. He opened his eyes, blinking blearily until he realized he was alone in the pile of blankets. 

“Dirk?” he called in a groggy voice.

He heard a thud from behind him, followed by a British-sounding curse word. He turned over his shoulder to find Dirk hopping up and down beside the ottoman, one arm sticking through his jacket, the other furiously rubbing his shin.

“Where are you going?” Todd asked.

Dirk froze mid-hop. “Toilet,” he said.

“Why are you putting on your jacket?”

“I'm cold.”

_That makes sense_ , Todd thought, rolling over and closing his eyes. He was on the brink of falling back asleep when he heard the front door creaking open. He sat bolt upright just in time to catch Dirk tiptoeing outside.

“I thought you were going to the bathroom.”

Dirk spun around, striking a casual pose against the doorframe. “Yes. Outdoors.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Dirk began, gears visibly spinning in his head. “I've only just escaped from captivity, and Montana is known for its scenery, so… when in Rome, and all that!” Todd raised an eyebrow at him, and he blanched. “Wait, let me try that again--”

“Where are you going, Dirk?”

Dirk made an exasperated noise and shut the door. “Fine. I was up all night thinking about the stupid prophecy, and how you told me to make bigger choices.”

Todd deflated like a balloon. “You were up all night?” he asked.

“That's not important,” Dirk said dismissively. “Listen, Panto said he came from the house. The house is clearly a thing. So I was planning on borrowing Hobbs’ bike to go investigate.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Dirk squirmed. “I didn't want to disturb you.”

“It's about two months late for that,” Todd said, clambering out of the pile of blankets and heading to the coat rack for his forest ranger shirt.

“What are you doing?” Dirk asked nervously.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Wh-- Wait, there's, erm… There's only room for one on the bike.”

“So we'll wake Hobbs up and get him to drive us,” Todd proposed, taking a step towards Hobbs’ room.

“ _No_ ,” Dirk said abruptly. “Hobbs can't come.”

Todd stopped in his tracks. “Why not?”

“I don't know, he just can't,” Dirk said, fiddling with the hem of his jacket.

“Okay, we'll let him sleep, then,” Todd decided. “But we'll leave him a note in case he wakes up and thinks we stole his car. With any luck, we'll be back before he even realizes we're gone.”

“Are you sure you want to add grand theft auto to your laundry list of crimes, Todd?” 

“What, like grand theft bicycle is any better?” Todd retorted, locating a scrap of paper and a spare pen on a messy table top and scribbling a quick message to Hobbs.

“I just think it would be far simpler if I went by myself.”

“I'm not letting you go alone, Dirk,” Todd said firmly. “Plus the thought of you on a bike is honestly terrifying.”

Disregarding Dirk's haughty huff, he palmed the car keys from the shelf near the door and strode outside, knowing Dirk had no choice but to follow him.

The uncomfortable silence between them made the half hour car ride seem twice as long. Todd tried to think of something to say to get him and Dirk back on track, but he had no idea how to do that after last night. He had essentially explained his feelings to Dirk, yet he still felt like they weren't on the same page. And despite his attempts to comfort him, Dirk hadn’t slept. Todd felt useless and foolish, both for crawling into the blanket nest the night before, and for his inability to bring it up now.

When they pulled up at the overgrown Cardenas house, the door was still wide open, blown off its hinges like it had been the last time they were there. Todd got out of the car and approached the rickety stairs, climbing them cautiously to the front porch. As he peered into the darkness inside, he suddenly felt very ill-prepared for this situation. It looked like the house had been gutted long ago, and nothing had been left to illuminate their way: no light fixtures, no lamps, not even a candle. Only slivers of sunlight poking feebly through the gaps in the blinds. 

“Hey, you didn't bring a flashlight or anything, did you?” Todd called over his shoulder.

“Oh, yes, it's in my pocket along with the high heels and the folding chair,” Dirk said sarcastically as he joined him. “I'm a detective, Todd, not Merry Pippin.”

Todd frowned. “You mean Mary Poppins?”

“Well, I should hope not,” Dirk remarked, brushing past Todd into the house. “God, it’s dingy in here, isn’t it?”

Todd shook his head and stepped inside. As his eyes began to adjust, he was able to make out the dead leaves and muddy footprints covering the floor. “So Panto made these?” he asked. “I mean, we're not disputing that, right? He said he came from this house, and according to Farah, the door was broken from the inside.”

“Very possibly,” Dirk said, examining some cobwebs in the corner. “Unless there's another big-footed Wendimoorian individual in our world that we haven't encountered yet.”

Todd squinted and walked across the foyer to take a look at the burn marks on the deteriorating walls.

“And these must be from that ‘67 thing Hobbs mentioned to Farah,” Todd figured, running his hand over a scorched wall plate. “Do you think _that_ has anything to do with Panto? Like, maybe time works differently for him, and he thinks he's been here for a couple of days, but he actually caused that electromagnetic pulse when he came here fifty years ago, and… No, that doesn't make any sense.”

“You get an A for effort,” Dirk said distractedly from the bottom of the staircase.

“Do you have any theories?” Todd asked acerbically, searching his surroundings for anything significant. “Oh, what about that phone?” He sped over to what must have been the Cardenases’ salon and began inspecting the rotary phone on the wall. “Hobbs said there was only one left in the whole house. Is that important?” No response. “Dirk, are we looking for anything specific?” Again, Dirk said nothing. Todd turned around and realized he was alone. “Dirk?” 

He walked back into the foyer and poked his head outside, thinking maybe Dirk had returned to the barn. “Dirk, are you out there?”

“I'm up here!” a muffled voice called from the second floor. “And I've found a thing! It appears to be some sort of slidey tunnel, or perhaps a tunnel-ish slide? Very steep and _dangerously_ slippery.”

Todd sprang into action, flying up the stairs two at a time. “Don't move, I'm coming!” he yelled.

“I'm not sure where it leads or why it was all boarded up, but I have a feeling it might-- _aaaaaaah_!” 

Todd reached the landing and ran into the room across the hall just in time to see Dirk's suede shoes disappearing through a hole in the floor of the closet. “Dirk!” he shouted, pushing aside the planks of wood around it and diving head-first after him without hesitation.

He whipped down the slide at breakneck speed, leaving his stomach somewhere far behind him. He yelled as he fell, and his scared voice echoed cacophonously off the curved walls, blending with Dirk's and creating a symphony of screams that accompanied their descent. 

Just as he was starting to wonder whether the slide would ever end, he was spat out onto a bed, his landing so forceful that he bounced five feet in the air, soared over the side and fell to the ground right on top of Dirk.

“Oof,” Dirk squeaked, the impact making his limbs flop up and down like a ragdoll.

Todd scrambled to his feet. He glanced up at the ceiling, and was alarmed to find that the slide had disappeared.

“Shit,” he said, looking wildly around. “Shit, shit, shit. Where are we?”

It looked like a little kid's bedroom, full of western paraphernalia: cowboy hats, lassos wrapped around the bedpost, a black plywood silhouette of a horse on the wall. It would have seemed normal had there not also been a fuzzy layer of static covering the bedspread, giving Todd the unsettling impression of being trapped inside a television. 

“Todd,” came Dirk's pained voice from the floor. “Would you mind--”

“Sorry,” Todd said, offering him a hand to help him up. “Are you okay?”

“I think so, thanks--”

Todd cut him off with a swift punch to the arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he said, ignoring Dirk's startled cry of pain. “You can't just go off like that!”

“I was investigating!” Dirk protested. “This is how I work, remember? I always end up precisely where I need to be. You, on the other hand-- Urgh, I _knew_ you shouldn't have come.”

“Was I supposed to let you do this by yourself?”

Dirk puffed up angrily. “Contrary to popular belief, I am a grown man, Todd. I don't need a babysitter.”

“What are you saying? You don't want my help all of a sudden?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want you to be here!”

These words hit Todd like a smack to the face, and he recoiled at the sting.

“Wait, no, that's not-- I didn't mean it like that,” Dirk said hastily, taking a small step towards him.

“Save it,” Todd snapped through gritted teeth. “Let’s just try to find a way out of here.”

Leaving Dirk floundering behind him, he skirted around the bed and stalked out the door. When he reached the entranceway, his jaw dropped, for right in front of him was the most ostentatious room he had ever seen.

It looked like the Cardenases’ salon, only in its prime: the walls were perfectly trimmed and painted, the windows were neatly curtained, and it was chock-full of gaudy decorations. Rocking horses, bunches of colorful balloons, giant gingerbread men and peppermint candies, party games, piles of presents, even a refreshments table complete with a lit birthday cake. In the background, creepy carnival music intermingled with an incessant train whistle, though he couldn’t tell exactly where these were coming from. And nothing was visible out the window except for static.

“What is this place?” Todd asked quietly.

“Oh, God,” Dirk groaned, appearing beside him. “I don’t like this.”

Todd took a few tentative steps into the room, scanning their surroundings. Through a large doorway to their left, past the pink glowing Christmas tree, was the same foyer he’d walked into moments before. “Am I crazy,” he asked, “or is this, like… an alternate version of the Cardenas house?”

“Whoever it belongs to,” Dirk said, picking up a lollipop from the refreshment table, “their interior designer certainly spared no expense.” 

“Does anything here feel important to you?” 

Dirk swiveled his gaze around the room until his eyes landed on something. “The phone,” he declared.

“Try dialing it,” Todd urged him. “That could be our ticket out of here.”

Dirk ran over to pick up the receiver, clutching the phone to his ear as he dialed. After several seconds, he grimaced and hung up. “Nothing.”

“Okay.” Todd thought for a second. “Maybe we should check outside.”

Dirk headed for the door and swung it open to reveal a sea of static.

“Todd,” he said calmly, his words drowning in white noise. “There _is_ no outside. Listen, this is just speculation, but we may be in actual Judeo-Christian hell.” 

Todd walked over and firmly slammed the door shut. “I'm an atheist.”

“Ooh, this is very bad,” Dirk moaned, spinning on his heel and beginning to pace back and forth. “This is _classic me bad_ , I've just _really_ blown this!”

“I thought this was how you worked,” Todd muttered.

“Yes, Todd, I blow everything!” Dirk shouted. “Haven’t you noticed? God, I wish you weren’t here right now.”

Todd looked away and shook his head bitterly. “Yeah, you've made that abundantly clear.”

“No, you don't understand,” Dirk said, his tone desperate. “This is on me. You're stuck here because of _me_. I don’t know if there’s a way out of here, and the last thing I want is for you to be trapped down here forever because of something I-- Wait, what was that? Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“That thumping sound… Music?”

Todd stopped to listen for a moment. Sure enough, heavy footfalls were coming from somewhere nearby, along with the dissonant moans of something that could only be loosely described as a voice.

“Oh, I don't think we're alone in here,” Dirk hissed.

“What’s making that noise?” Todd asked. “A person?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“What do we do?” 

Dirk smiled tremulously. “Keep looking for a way out,” he said.

“Okay,” Todd said, leading Dirk back over to the entranceway. He randomly chose a door across from the bedroom and gingerly extended his hand towards the knob, looking at Dirk for approval. Dirk nodded his head decisively, and Todd pushed it open to find an impossibly long corridor stretching out in front of them.

Dirk sighed heavily. “Of course.”

The corridor was intersected at several points by other corridors, each one marked by a small overhead light shining a circle onto the blue hardwood below. Its walls were covered in colorful polka dots (or perhaps they were upside-down balloons), and lining the hall on either side were doors. Lots of doors. The whole thing made Todd feel like he was about to get chased Scooby Doo-style. 

“I used to have nightmares like this when I was a kid,” he commented, his fear making him more forthcoming than he should’ve been.

“Me too,” Dirk admitted, beginning to inch his way along the corridor. 

“Really?”

“Mmm. Only they took place at Blackwing.”

“Huh.” Todd sidled up beside him. “How old were you?”

“When I had the nightmares?”

“When they took you,” Todd clarified, glancing leerily at a door they were passing. “The first time.”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I must have been six or seven.”

“Oh. I don’t think I knew that.”

“I don't think I told you.”

Todd mulled this over as they rounded a corner onto another sweeping hallway, the walls of this one covered with paintings. 

“Holy shit,” he said, racing up to the first one he saw.

It was a portrait of a little boy with a cowboy hat over his eyes. He had his hands raised high above his head, and his mouth was wide open in an ‘O’ of surprise. The painting directly across from it featured a little boy in a cowboy hat as well, possibly the same one, except he was holding an air gun identical to the one Dirk had found in the barn.

“Are you seeing this, Dirk?” Todd asked.

“Yes!” Dirk replied, looking fascinatedly between the two paintings.

“Wait, this is crazy,” Todd said, sprinting over to check out the rest of the art. “This is so crazy. This is the motel Farah and I were staying in before we found you! And this one here is obviously the tree that Hector was found in. And this one-- Dirk, this has gotta be the boat from that field.”

“I’m sorry, there’s a boat in a field?” Dirk demanded.

“Yeah, in Bergsberg,” Todd elaborated. “The Infant, Male, Pollock, Francis. Nobody knows how it got there, but Farah’s brother says it’s been there since the 50s.”

“Why am I only just hearing about this?”

“I don’t know, I guess it didn’t come up,” Todd shrugged. “But this all has to mean something, right?” 

Before he received an answer, a rumbling snarl erupted from just around the corner. Dirk shrieked and scampered over to hide behind him.

“Yeah, we’re definitely not alone in here,” Todd said.

“Run,” Dirk ordered, grappling at Todd’s arm. “Now.”

They took off as fast as they could, twisting and turning down labyrinthine passageways, tearing in and out of rooms until they had no idea where they were anymore. Their legs ached and their chests heaved, and still they ran, hearing the shrill strains of music ringing all around them. Todd was about to lose hope when, miraculously, they careened around a corner and saw a room they recognized at the end of the hall. 

“Quick, the kitchen!” Dirk cried.

They ran towards it at lightning speed, looking over their shoulders to make sure they had lost their pursuer. When they reached the doorway, however, they skidded to a halt, staring in disbelief at what they saw inside.

In the middle of the room was a kitchen table that appeared to have been stabbed. There was a pair of scissors lodged in its center, and emanating from the wound was an enormous puddle of pulsing, bubbling blood.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Dirk breathed, tiptoeing around the table to scrutinize this strange sight.

“This,” Todd said. “This might actually be the weirdest thing I've ever seen. Watch out!” He grabbed Dirk by the waist and pulled him backwards so he wouldn't tread on the shattered sunflower vase under his feet. 

Just then, the thumping noise returned even louder than before. Dirk gulped in fright, his spine stiffening as he stared down the hallway. “For the record,” he said, “this is not the best case ever anymore.”

He yelped as a six-foot purple monster rounded the corner and began trudging towards them, bellowing a discordant tune. It had a horn sticking out of its head, wings extending from its back, claws that looked to be about a foot in length, and dozens of long, thin teeth sticking out from its cavernous mouth. 

“Shit,” Todd said. “I should've brought a gun. Why didn't I bring a gun?”

“The scissors!” Dirk exclaimed.

Todd dove forwards and yanked the scissors from the table, causing a spray of blood to squirt up from the wound. Dirk took cover behind him, the creature creeping closer, its song growing louder. As Todd held the scissors out with trembling hands, he felt a tug of recollection at the back of his brain. He squinted, trying to place the near-indecipherable melody. 

“Wait,” he burst out. “Wait, I recognize that song. I know what this is!”

“This is _really_ not the time for musical trivia, Todd!” Dirk told him.

“No, I can save us!” Todd said. “This isn't just a monster, it's a one-eyed, one-horned flying purple people eater!”

“Your observational skills are unparalleled, but how is that going to help us?”

“It's an old song from the 50s,” Todd said. “Mexican Funeral used to do a punk cover of it. Take off your jacket.”

“Bu-- Wh-- Why?”

“It's chasing us because it eats purple people. Take off your jacket, _now_.”

“Are you sure it's not just a plain old people eater who happens to be purple?” 

“There's literally a line from the song about eating purple people, Dirk. Would you just trust me and take off your fucking jacket?”

Dirk let out a frustrated growl, whipping the jacket off and holding it at his side. The monster hesitated for only a split second before crossing the threshold into the kitchen.

“Brilliant plan, Todd! Went off without a hitch!”

“Throw the jacket, Dirk.”

“But--”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Todd said, tearing the jacket from Dirk's grip and hurling it at the monster. 

The jacket snagged on the monster’s claws, and it let out a painfully loud screech, gnashing its teeth excitedly before ripping into the corduroy with gusto. After a couple of mouthfuls, however, it spat its catch to the floor. It looked perplexedly between Dirk and the disemboweled jacket, and then it turned around, heaving a disappointed sigh. As it sloped off, Todd heard its distorted song reverberating through the halls once again, this time in a minor key.

Dirk dragged his feet over to the remains of the jacket, kneeling down to touch the shredded ribbons of fabric. “Is it too much to ask for one of these to last a week before getting ruined beyond repair?” he moaned.

“‘Thank you, Todd, for saving both our lives,’” Todd said sarcastically. “‘Don't mention it, Dirk, anyone else would've done the same thing.’”

“I _really_ loved that jacket.”

“I'll buy you a new one. Let’s go.”

Dirk met his eyes apprehensively. “Where?”

Todd looked out the kitchen door, and then back at Dirk. 

“No,” Dirk said, getting to his feet. “No, we can’t go out there, Todd.”

“It’s better than here.”

“No, it’s not,” Dirk said, violently tossing his head back and forth. “It’s just a load of static. What if we jump out and-- and we get stuck out there, but there’s so much static that we can’t see or hear each other, so we end up wandering around alone forever?”

“Well, let’s hope that doesn’t happen,” Todd said, walking up to the doorway, “because this is our only option.”

He turned to Dirk and offered him the hand that wasn’t holding the bloody scissors. As Dirk looked back and forth between Todd and the static, several emotions were visible on his face at once: trepidation, determination, resignation, sadness and a sliver of hope. It reminded Todd of those pictures that can either look like a vase or two faces, depending on your point of view. Finally, with a shaky breath, Dirk came over and took Todd’s hand.

“Are you ready?” Todd asked.

“No.”

“On three?”

“Okay.”

“One…” Todd squeezed Dirk's hand tightly. “Two…” He closed his eyes. “Three.” Together, they crossed the threshold.

For a moment, the white noise grew to a deafening pitch, and then it faded, leaving Todd’s ears buzzing. He tentatively opened his eyes and found himself standing on the Cardenas property. They were at the side of the house, just in front of the kitchen door. No static, no bloody tables, no singing monsters; just blue skies, a light breeze, and the sound of birds chirping. 

“It worked,” he said astonishedly, looking at Dirk. “We’re back.”

“Todd, you were right!” Dirk let out a relieved laugh. 

Any further celebration was put on hold by Hobbs’ unexpected appearance from around the side of the house.

“There you are!” he said, his sweaty face a portrait of bewilderment and betrayal as he approached them. 

“Hobbs,” Todd said, hurriedly dropping Dirk’s hand. “We can explain--”

“Did you come all the way here on your bike?” Dirk interrupted.

“Well, of course I did!” Hobbs wheezed. “You took my dang car!”

\---

Dirk's lack of sleep was finally starting to catch up to him. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having been this exhausted. The house within the house certainly hadn't helped, nor had explaining the whole ordeal to Hobbs in vivid detail on the way back. Dirk's eyelids felt like they were being weighed down by anchors, and he swayed dangerously as he exited the car and walked up to the sheriff’s department.

Hobbs held the station door open for them. “Head on in,” he said.

“Thank you, Sheriff.” Dirk stepped into the lobby, fighting the impulse to lie down on the floor. 

“You betcha,” Hobbs replied. “Can I make either of you a cup of coffee?”

“Some tea would be lovel--” 

“We’re okay,” Todd promptly interrupted. “I think we just need a breather.”

“Say no more,” Hobbs said, holding up his hands and backing towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna go give Tina a call, let you boys rest.”

Todd gave him a small smile. 

Once Hobbs had disappeared from the room, Dirk padded over to the other side of the lobby and sat down on the couch, hugging a pillow to his side. Todd came over and sat down beside him.

“Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey,” Dirk responded.

Todd shifted awkwardly. “So it’s been a weird twenty-four hours,” he said. “Well, actually, it’s been a weird two months, but that’s… beside the point.”

Dirk snorted, but said nothing. 

“Look,” Todd continued, “I’m sorry everything’s gotten so complicated. I know you’ve been through a lot, and it’s not easy to re-adjust. And I know you’re not used to having somebody else around, especially someone who… cares about you.” Dirk turned his attention to the pillow under his arm, worrying its corner with his fingers. “I do trust you, Dirk, it’s just… I get nervous that bad things are going to happen to you if I’m not there.”

“And I get nervous that bad things are going to happen to you if you _are_ ,” Dirk said evenly. “What if that monster ate us, Todd? What if diving through that static didn’t work, what if that just killed us? What if you’d had a pararibulitis attack and I couldn’t help you?”

“None of that happened.”

“But it could have,” Dirk insisted, shifting to look Todd squarely in the eyes. “Listen, I've survived a lot. Stabbings, shootings, two separate stints in Blackwing-- all those things I could handle, sort of, but if anything _ever_ happened to you because of me… You have to understand, it’s not that I don’t want you around. I do. More than anything. I just wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” Todd promised him.

“You can’t know that for sure,” Dirk said, shaking his head sadly. “I just-- I don’t even understand why you’re still here. What have you got to do with any of--?”

Before he could say another word, Todd leaned forward and kissed him. Dirk inhaled sharply, reeling backwards with the force of it as Todd pulled away to look at him, blue eyes gleaming in the light.

“That’s what,” he said in a broken voice.

Dirk whimpered, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him close. As their lips brushed, he felt his body awaken, nerves thrumming, bones buzzing. He was decidedly not a coffee person, but if drinking it produced anywhere near the same effect as this did, he thought he ought to give it a second chance. Todd’s hands landed on either side of his neck and he shivered, fists tightening in his shirt. Guided by pure instinct, he lay back on the couch, bringing Todd along with him, savoring the way his breathing changed when their bodies pressed together.

He could no longer remember why he’d been so upset, didn’t understand how anyone could be upset _ever_ when such a sensation as this was possible. Todd was on top of him, every slide of his lips washing away the tension until Dirk knew nothing but the blood coursing through his veins, the breath catching in his throat, the taste of Todd sharp and sweet on his tongue as he silently begged for more.

Or perhaps it hadn’t been so silent, because Todd’s hands were moving down from Dirk’s neck now, traveling over his torso and coming to a stop at his waist, where they swiftly untucked his shirt. Dirk made a small noise against his mouth, his body tautening in anticipation, but just as he felt the jolt of fingers on his bare stomach, Todd’s eyes clouded over and all action ceased. 

Dirk drew his chin back to look at Todd's face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Todd turned his attention to something in the middle of the room. “Amanda?” he whispered.

“Wh-- What about her?”

“That’s impossible,” Todd said to himself, brushing Dirk aside as he clambered off the couch to his feet.

Dirk hiked himself into a sitting position, growing increasingly unnerved. “Todd, what’s happening?” he demanded.

“Amanda!” Todd cried joyfully, staggering forwards with his arms outstretched. Suddenly, his entire body went into spasms and he let out an excruciating scream.

“Todd!” Dirk yelled, rushing over to him as he convulsed. “Hobbs, help!”

Hobbs barreled into the room just in time to witness Todd collapsing to the ground. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“He’s having an attack,” Dirk called, dropping to his knees and trying to hold Todd steady as he thrashed about. “He needs his pills, where are they?” 

Hobbs started rummaging through Todd’s pockets, and all the guilt and fear came flooding back. This was a sign. A warning from the universe. Dirk had a purpose, and this was what would happen if he let himself get distracted. He watched Todd writhing and screaming beneath him, and he knew that there were only two outcomes to this situation: either he would say goodbye to Todd forever, or he would watch him die.


End file.
